


A Thousand Wishes

by MysticMoonhigh



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/F, F/M, Femslash, M/M, Past Lives, Reincarnation, fem!AU, female - Freeform, for like three seconds, sort of follows canon a little bit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-18
Updated: 2015-03-15
Packaged: 2018-02-26 02:57:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 41,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2635466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MysticMoonhigh/pseuds/MysticMoonhigh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean Winchester has been having nightmares for the past little while- glimpses of other times and places, little bits of information. Sometimes, her dreams are laced with fire and screams, and horrors no seven year old should be able to come up with. Others, they're filled with Sammy, strange lands, and a blue flicker in the eyes of strangers that almost makes her feel like she has a guardian angel.<br/>Sam Winchester is sick. As much as her sister hates it, her health is slowly deteriorating. However, a door opens up. All Sam has to do is say 'yes' for a little while- though to what, Dean's not so sure.<br/>Wincestiel reincarnation au.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. At First

**Author's Note:**

> Alright, this is my new fanfiction. Updating will be random, but I'll try not to let it sit any longer than ten days at a time. However, I have no guarantees as I am, in fact, a high school student. I do, however, have a good record of finishing what I have started, so you won't regret reading this, even if it is a WIP. I'm really excited with all the plans I have for this story and I have the feeling you'll all enjoy it.

 

Dean sat up in a cold sweat, breath forcing its way in and out of her lungs rapidly as her eyes scanned the darkened room. Her hands clutched and grasped at the blankets, pulling them closer to her body.

Blankets offered no protection against the nightmares, but they were a small comfort.

Dean's nightmares had been coming more and more frequently over the last couple of months. Ever since her seventh birthday, they had seemed to take on a crisp new edge of realism that frightened her. Her usual dreams offered some edge of peace, a blurry sort of “looking through the veil” kind of feeling. These, did not feel like that.

Recently, her dreams had turned to fire and torture, hooks digging into her flesh as a voice that was too deep to be her own screamed out Sammy's name. Although the voice was deep and the muscles too large and the chest too flat, Dean knew that she and the man with the hooks were one in the same. What she couldn't quite seem to wrap her mind around was _how._

That wasn't the worst part, though. Some of the dreams from here had taken a creative twist, something a seven year old shouldn't have been coming up with. In some of her visions, the knife was in her own hands. The screaming wasn't coming from her, but it was still there. Oh, it was always still there.

She squinted in the dark, attempting to look at her own palms. A part of her wanted to get up and turn the lights on, but she didn't want to wake up Sammy. Sammy had seemed so tired lately.

Dean moved aside the curtain covering the window, allowing a pale streak of moonlight to wash over her hands. She breathed out a sigh of relief when she saw that they were blood-free. The nightmare of tearing and ripping into someone else's flesh, the terrible screams that just kept coming and coming, the sweat that poured off of her brow as she admitted to a disembodied voice that she  _liked_ it.... 

She took a shaky breath, allowing the curtain to close. Her in those dreams wasn't really her. She just had to keep chanting that to herself, over and over and over again.... Because if she had another anxiety attack, mommy would have to take her back to the therapist. The therapist only told Dean that something was wrong with her, and she was sick of hearing that. 

She forced her breathing to slow, sinking down in the bed. 

She almost let out a loud groan as she saw hair dangling over the bunk. Sam's head slowly revealed itself as she hung over the side of the bunk bed, something that their mother had warned her time and time again not to do. Dean had woken up Sam now, great. 

“I'm sorry if I woke you up Sammy. Please go back to sleep.” She whispered. Sammy shook her head no, closing her eyes as she did. Dean felt a small flash of hope in her chest, but she stuffed it down. 

“You had another bad dream.” Sam said, opening her eyes again. Dean knew that it would be futile to lie to her sister. So, she nodded her head. “Do you want me to sleep with you?”

Dean's hope was, in fact, correct. Against their parent's orders, Sam had been climbing into bed with Dean every night after she woke up. They never really got in trouble for it, so Sam couldn't be bothered to care about what they said. Still, Dean never asked. She only let it happen when Sam offered.

“If you want to.” She said. Sam rolled her eyes, and made a small sound of exasperation as she heaved herself back up into her own bed. Once she was there, Dean heard the shuffling of blankets as Sam grabbed her favourite stuffed animal and made her way to the ladder, slowly sliding down. 

Dean scooted over once Sam was there, lifting up her blankets. The room felt too cold to her heated skin, and she was grateful that Sam always seemed to run hotter than the air. She wrapped her arms around her younger sister and planted a small kiss to Sammy's head in thanks. Sammy was such a good sister to her.

“Will you tell me about what you dream, someday?” Sam asked. This question, as it always had, caused Dean to flinch. 

“Maybe someday when you're older.” Dean promised. She knew that Sam, as curious as she was, was not satisfied with the answer. But Sam just hummed in response, snuggling closer to her under the covers. 

Some of the dreams were good, of course. But it seemed like the good ones only came with Sammy nestled up against her.

~~~ 

The doctors came to talk to them, about a month later.

Well really, they went to go and talk to the doctors. Dean didn't know who they were or why they wanted to stab Sammy so many times with needles, but from what she could gather, they thought Sammy might be sick. It made Dean upset to think of her sister that way. Especially since she knew how annoying colds were. 

“Mom, when we get home will you fix Sammy chicken noodle soup?” Dean questioned, looking up to her mother with wide, innocent eyes. Her mother frowned, as if she had said something wrong. 

“Chicken noodle soup isn't going to help Sammy. She isn't the same kind of sick that you were, Dean. Sammy is much, much sicker than that.” She said. Dean could see her mom trying to hold back tears, and she didn't like it one little bit. She shook her head back and forth.

“Why? Is Sammy gonna throw up?” She questioned. Her mother and father both shared a look before her mother answered, and it made Dean feel out of the loop. She wanted to know everything that the grown-ups knew. It made her upset that she didn't. 

“No, not right now, Sammy's not. Sammy is going to be very very tired for a little while, though. We aren't sure what's wrong with her, but as soon as we find out, we'll let you know. Okay?” She asked. Dean wasn't quite satisfied with the answer, but she knew better than to continue on about it. Besides, one of the doctors had just opened the door, and Sammy was back. 

“Dean, come and kiss my wrist!” Sammy exclaimed, holding it out. “They poked me again.”

Dean ran over to her sister, grabbing her wrist and placing small kisses all over it. Sammy giggled and pushed her away, smiling at Dean like she was the sun. Just for a minute, Dean could forget that Sammy was sick, because Sammy was smiling and happy, and how could she really be unhealthy?

~~~ 

Sam and Dean loved more than anything to play in the forest across the street from their house. There were meadows and fields and tall trees to climb, all of which Dean had tried to climb or had to save Sammy from at one point or another. There was something therapeutic about being out in the woods with Sam. It made everything else go away, until it was just the two of them. 

Which is why, when Sammy told Dean that she was too tired to play after school today, Dean started to be worried. 

Dean had noticed that Sam had been taking longer and longer to follow after her. She had to stop and wait for Sam to catch up while they hiked, had to hold her sister's hands while she climbed over logs, to make sure that she didn't trip. Sam had bruises more and more often, from her knees hitting the ground after she stumbled. 

“You're too tired to come and play?” Dean questioned, trying to keep the pout out of her voice. Sam shook her head yes, slinging her school books down as if they carried the weight of the world. Dean couldn't help but flinch at the sound. 

“I need to take a nap. Tell mom and dad to wake me up when it's time for dinner.” She requested, her words almost getting cut off by a loud yawn. Dean nodded her head, watching silently as Sam went back into their shared bedroom. All she could think about was how Sam hated naps, and how maybe she was sick after all. 

Dean walked through the forest by herself that day. Things just didn't seem as exciting or wonderful or new without Sam there, and her heart panged every time she would see an animal, remembering how Sam's face used to light up from it. 

When she came home for dinner, mom and dad were talking in hushed voices in the kitchen, gesturing towards their room. Dean didn't bother to listen, knowing that they were talking about Sammy. 

She pushed their room door open, finding Sammy asleep in her own bed. Dean smiled at the sight of Sammy pulling her covers over her shoulders. Something about it just felt  _right._ It was better than Sammy being in her own bed, because it made Dean feel like Sammy  _belonged_ with her. It made her feel like Sammy was never going to leave. 

She dragged her out to eat dinner an hour later, ignoring their parent's sharp looks towards each other, the glares of contempt. When she saw that Sammy was uncomfortable, she reached under the table and grabbed her sister's hand, giving it a small squeeze. 

That night, her dreams were more vivid than they had ever been before. 

 

~~~~~ Ancient Japan, Year Unknown~~~~~~~

Dean wasn't the easiest with words. People tended to talk to Sam. 

Of course, that didn't stop them from remarking on how beautiful she was. It was one of the things that annoyed her most. Sure, she had long, silky black hair and green eyes that were rare to find along with her pale complexion, but they didn't all have to  _stare_ like that. It felt like everywhere she went, eyes were on her and Sam. Sam, who, in her opinion, deserved far more praise than her. 

What was the most frustrating about all of this was the fact that nobody would freaking  _propose_ , to either of them. 

No matter how many wealthy and handsome lords came through their towns, clearly a good match for a woman from a middle-class upbringing, they would take one look at the other and turn tail and run. Dean was good at stitching. Dean was good at singing. Sam was great at storytelling. For some reason, though, nobody wanted either of them.

It wasn't even so much that Dean  _wanted_ somebody to propose to her, as much as she was concerned about why they  _weren't._ Usually, a woman of her age would have received at least four proposals, and taken one. Dean had watched all of her friends leave the village one by one, nestled neatly onto the horses of their new husbands. She missed them all terribly.

She was too close to Sam to say yes. It seemed like it was a silly reason, sure, but her and Sam had been together from the moment they had been born. They were twins, (though far from identical) and nobody had tried to separate them yet, not once. Dean was grateful for it. 

Of course, she couldn't help but be wary. Things like this didn't usually happen to people. Life was not this forgiving, and people were not this kind. Every day that something didn't happen to try and tear her away from her sister, she worried that it was going to be even worse when it did come. There was no way they could stay together, and whatever was going to happen was going to happen. 

Dean almost wished it would hurry up and get over with. 

“Dean, Dean!” A voice cried out, from her right. Her friend was panting and carrying her high-heeled shoes above her head, in a very uncharacteristic move. Dean narrowed her eyes as she approached. 

There seemed to be a hint of blue sparkling behind those deep-brown eyes.

Dean had been noticing this more and more in the people she talked to. They would seem a little...different. Many of them would preform kind acts that she had never seen them do before, some of them would gently slip their hand into hers. Dean couldn't really put her finger on it, but something just felt a little more...  _complete_ , when eyes flickered to blue. It was comforting in the oddest ways. 

Dean had several theories, actually. The most insane, (yet the most plausible amongst them) was that a god had picked her out specially to befriend. It seemed ludicrous to Dean; yet people had this odd kind of shuffle and moved like there was more weight on their back, always the same characteristics when they met. None of the people ever remembered their conversations or kind deeds once they were done, and many described what they had done at the time as a blur. Dean hadn't told anyone. 

Clearly, this was either a god, or a *kitsune. Both could be good or bad, and she knew that her people wouldn't take to having one so close to her kindly. It probably didn't help that she had a reputation as a trouble maker, so people scarcely liked to believe what she said. 

“Hello, Yuri, how are you today?” She questioned, keeping things polite. As usual with the spirit, Yuri stood just a little too close. Dean struggled with herself, as she always did, trying to decide whether or not to tell the spirit that she knew what it was. As always, her logical side won out, and she kept her mouth shut. 

If a spirit was going to make kind gestures and had chosen to befriend her, who was she to look a gift horse in the mouth? It was best to just not say anything, and keep the secret close to her heart. 

“I am doing well, thank you.” Yuri said, again uncharacteristic. Dean nodded her head thoughtfully, and she saw that brilliant blue flicker through once more. “You and Sam are well? Are you preparing offerings for the gods?” She questioned, peering into the basket. Her voice was uncharacteristically flat, her question oddly blunt for her cheery personality. 

“We are. Yes, I'm taking these fruits to the altar. Would you like to come with me?” Dean offered, not wanting to let the spirit go. Whoever or whatever it was, Dean enjoyed it's company. The power that sizzled through the air when it was around was admittedly frightening, but Dean found herself placing a certain level of trust in the thing. 

“I would enjoy that, yes. But I can't stay long.” Yuri said, nodding her head. Dean smiled and grabbed her hand, pulling her onto the path that lead to the altars. 

The walk was short and quiet, but there was something calming about the spirit being close. 

When they stopped by the oak tree and Dean laid down the basket, she knew that the spirit was pleased. 

“Have you and Sam spoken about marriage arrangements yet?” Yuri questioned, pleasantly. Dean turned, eyebrows pulling together in faux surprise. Of course the spirit would assume they were marrying someone; they were about the right age to begin childbearing. 

“Why no, neither of us have been proposed to. Are you quite feeling well, Yuri?” Dean questioned, teasingly pressing the back of her hand to Yuri's head. Yuri went cross-eyed trying to look at her hand, and Dean let out a loud laugh, moving it from her head. This spirit had many endearing qualities, that was for certain. 

“Well, I assumed you would be marrying each other.” She responded, flatly. Dean laughed again, finding the notion ridiculous. They were _sisters,_ certainly not intended to wed. The spirit continued to look confused. 

“No, not as far as I know.” Dean said, looking down to the ground. This was vaguely confusing; why would a spirit ask something like that? Dean could never envision leaving behind her sister for a man, nor could she see herself being with anyone other than Sam _permanently_ , but marrying Sam? No matter how appealing the thought seemed to her, she was certain that not many would approve. 

“Why not? Are twins not born of starcrossed lovers?” The spirit questioned. At this, Dean had to pause. 

“What do you mean?” She questioned. 

“According to legend, twins are born of starcrossed lovers, from a past life. That's why nobody has tried to split you and Sam up. No man would dare infringe upon two people whom the gods themselves gave another life so that they may be together. Are you and Sam so sheltered that none dared to tell you?” She asked, all the while keeping her head tilted to the side. 

Suddenly, it all made so much  _sense_ . So that's why nobody had attempted to win either of them over! It wasn't because they were unappealing, or they were undesired, but rather because they knew that both of their hearts belonged to another. 

And really, Dean had known she loved Sam for awhile now. This small affirmation, no matter how seemingly insignificant, meant everything to her. Maybe, her and Sam would get married. If the gods willed it, it would be done. And here, having what may be an actual god in front of her, well, she couldn't argue with that now, could she?

“No, nobody had. Thank you for informing me.” Dean said, stepping forward to hug her. She froze up at the touch, and Dean assumed that the diety didn't get much affection aside from when they held hands. It felt nice to give it to someone, even if this particular someone wasn't Sam. “I think Sam will be pleased with the explanation.”

“Any time. You're my friend, and I couldn't leave you in the dark.” The spirit replied. Then, suddenly, it stilled. Dean unwrapped her arms from the other's shoulders and took a step back, concerned with the sudden rigidity. This wasn't surprise, this was _fear._

“I have to go now. I will talk to you later. Tell Sam I said hello.” She said, promptly. Dean nodded, understanding. Spirits probably had lots to do. Spirits, gods, kitsunes, whatever this thing was. 

Dean turned back to the altar, and as soon as she did, there was the sound of wings from behind her. She turned back suddenly, startled. 

She expected to see her friend, but she was alone in the woods. 

 


	2. The Second Wave

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! As usual thank you all for the support this has received so far, but I would *really* like some comments on this chapter if you could! The view switches back to present day and these scenes ran WAY longer than I thought they would, so this is actually only about half of what this chapter was originally planned to contain. Oh well.

~~~~~~~~~~~~Present Day~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dean woke from this dream without any yells still caught in her throat or the ghostly feelings of flame across her skin. She shook her head as she slowly rose from sleep, still caught in the sensations of her dream. She sat up and Sam shifted beside her, bringing her attention back to her sister.

  
That had been by far the strangest dream she had had before. Her and Sam were... _ a couple _ ? And still related?

  
Or, rather, they weren't a couple. Not yet, anyways. But it was made perfectly clear that they were going to be. It was just something that she was having trouble wrapping her head around. Why would she dream something like that?

  
Of course, she'd had dreams where they'd kissed. She'd had dreams where they passionately embraced, or a small child would run up, supposedly theirs. But they had never once been related in the dreams, and the ones where they were a couple were few and far between.

  
That did little to ease Dean's mind. Dean had dreamed of her and Sam in that world before, as the twins in Japan, but never had they done anything to make her assume they would end up together. Perhaps she was missing crucial pieces to other dreams, too?

  
Dean had unintentionally began to think of her dreams as glimpses into something else. Like she had glimpses of other worlds and realities, floating around in her head. Of course, that seemed ridiculous, even to a seven year old.

  
She closed her eyes, breathing a long and steady breath outwards. Once she was done, she slowly lowered her body back down, hesitating a moment before wrapping her arm around her little sister.

  
Those dreams felt like something a little more than dreams....

  
To Dean, they felt a little bit like memories.   
~~~   
Sam was able to play the next day, and the next. Even so, Dean was as careful as she could be, making sure she didn't stumble and hurt herself on any twigs or rocks. She walked just a little bit slower than usual, and they didn't quite get as far as they usually did. Sam complained about not getting to the place with all the "cool bugs", but Dean ignored it. What mattered was that Sam wasn't hurt.

  
She felt protective over her, more than she rightfully should for her age. Especially since Sam tended to get pissy when she felt like she was being held back.   
"Come on Dean, I thought you said we would pretend that we were scientists and study the bugs! I even brought my magnifying glass!" Sam said, pulling her miniature magnifying glass out of her pocket and flashing it at Dean, like it was her proudest possession.

  
"I'll tell you what; we'll play scientist tomorrow. Today, mom's making pecan pie for dessert, and you know she doesn't give us as much if we're late." Dean announced. Sam couldn't deny the logic, but it didn't stop her from pouting about it.

  
"Fine." She relented, pushing some dirt around with her foot. She slumped down and sat hard on a log.

“Do you need a rest?” Dean asked, a little concerned. Sam crossed her arms over her chest and raised her head upwards indignantly, refusing to speak to Dean.

“Come on Sammy. Don't be stupid. Come on, let's go home.” She insisted, making a small gesture with her head. Sam got up off the log but her arms didn't uncross themselves from over her chest. Dean didn't mind all that much, because hey, at least Sammy wasn't gasping for breath like she would have been if they had walked the full way.

There was always tomorrow.

At least, until there wasn't.

Because the next day, Sam collapsed onto her bed. Dean got out their white lab coats and threw one over to her, but she didn't even bother to catch it.

“What are you doing? Come on, we have to go investigate the bugs!” Dean argued, throwing herself onto the bed with Sam. Sam turned away, grabbing a pillow and wrapping it around her face. She mumbled something, but it was entirely unintelligible. Dean let out a short laugh, prodding her sister's shoulder.

“C'mon Sammy, I can't hear you.” She teased.

Sam slowly lowered the pillow from her face, and Dean noticed then that her eyes didn't seem as bright as they usually were. Her hair wasn't shiny. She seemed to have all together lost her luster.

Dean wondered briefly when that had happened.

“I'm too tired to go outside today.” Sam said, looking down. Dean felt her heart sink. She had thought that Sam was doing okay, but she had clearly misjudged. Sammy looked _tired._ Sammy wasn't eating as much. Sammy just didn't seem like her Sammy anymore and it wasn't something that Dean was prepared for.

Because she'd seen things like this, in other lifetimes. She'd seen Sam slowly deteriorate, she'd seen her fall apart and be put back together despite the fact that she was already too damn broken, she'd seen it too much. No matter what anyone told her about her dreams, she knew that there was just something about them, something that wasn't quite _normal._ And even if it was her imagination, that didn't change the way she felt about it.

“That's okay. I'll just go play on the wii.” Dean said, nodding her head. Sam gave a small yawn, turning over and shuffling around, in attempt to get comfortable.

Dean slowly and gingerly picked up the lab coat, folding it up. She put both of them on the top shelf of the closet, and she hoped with everything in her that Sam would be okay the next day.

Because folding up the coat felt oddly reminiscent of losing a friend.

~~~

Sam was okay the next day.

The day after that, she was not.

Their parents thought that their fights were hushed, but Dean could hear them. They could hear mentions of 'Sam' and 'sick' and 'hospital', and Dean knew that that meant more tests and more poking, and more of their mother crying as she explained that no, they still didn't know what was wrong with Sam, but maybe they would soon.

The days where Sam could not play were soon more frequent than the days where she was able to, and before Dean knew it, Sam was in bed every day.

Sometimes, Dean would lay down with her, wrap her in her arms, and snuggle up as close as they could get. She noticed her sister's arms getting thinner and thinner; one day, Sam went to change her shirt, and Dean could see every rib in excruciating detail.

The hospital visits got more and more frequent, and one day, mom started weeping outside the door, and their dad yelled at the doctors, and Dean could only sneak into the room with Sam and close her eyes, cover her sister's ears so one of them wouldn't hear it happening.

That was the day they tried to separate them.

A doctor came through the door, his coat swinging in a way that was oddly reminiscent of the lab coats they wore to play scientist. He had a clip board in his hand, and he paused when he saw Dean.

“You're not supposed to be in here.” He observed, raising his eyebrows. Dean didn't respond, simply clutching Sam a little bit tighter. She knew, of course, that she was going to get caught eventually. She just wanted to give her sister as much comfort as possible before they had to run more tests. Sam was sick of needles and pain and people holding her down, and Dean would offer what little comfort she could.

“Come on, you. We can't get your sister better if you don't listen to us.” He said, sternly.

“Me being here makes her better. You're not doing your damn job.” Dean informed him, a sudden flare of anger surprising her. The doctor reared back, but he quickly recovered. Dean was expecting a harsh reprimand, but that was not what she received.

“I know. We're doing the best that we can, though. I can promise you that I'll try my hardest with your sister, but you have to promise me that you'll let us do our job.” The doctor said, slowly walking towards them as he was speaking. He swooped down once he was in front of them, putting himself on Dean's level. “Now, your parents are probably already worried about your sister, you don't want them to worry about you too, do you?”

Dean nodded her head. This had been the first adult that hadn't talked down to her since she'd been here, and she found herself wanting to listen.

“It's okay Dean. I'll be okay.” Sam reassured her, slowly moving her sister's hands out of the way. Dean stiffly obeyed her sister's silent request, obeying the doctor.

She knew that Sam wanted her there, but Sam also didn't want to cause trouble for the doctors.

Dean shuffled out of the room, trying to slow down her departure as much as possible. She wanted Sam to be able to change her mind if she wanted Dean to stay. Of course, she didn't, but the doctor was still patient as she kept with the slow pace down the hallway. Dean wasn't sure why the doctor had chosen to accompany her back to the waiting room, but she wrote it off.

Her parents were there, and they were holding her coat.

Dean's eyes flickered between them and it, and her eyebrows drew together. Her mother's eyes were rimmed red from crying, and her father's hair was messed all to hell. She stopped moving, waiting for something to be said.

“Come on Dean, honey, we're going home.” Her mother announced, waving the coat.

“When's Sammy coming?” She asked, narrowing her eyes. Her mom flinched, and fresh tears welled up in her eyes. She turned to their father, who in turn dropped to his knees, motioning for Dean to come forward.

Dean stood where she was, eying him warily. It took a few minutes, but he spoke anyways.

“Sam can't come home with us, Dean.” He said, looking into her eyes. “She has to stay at the hospital for a little while, so they can try and find out what's going on. If she comes home with us again, she won't be safe.”

Dean took a step back, and she found her shoulders bumping into the doctor's stomach. She shook her head to clear it, trying to process the information.

Sam couldn't come home with them, and Dean couldn't leave her here. The doctors _hurt_ her, with needles and tests and god only knew what else. Dean wasn't about to leave her sister in that environment alone. This was her _sister_ , for Christ's sake, she wasn't leaving this hospital without her.

She lifted a hand as fast as she could, feeling only a pang of remorse as she elbowed the doctor behind her in the gut.

Her hair flew out behind her and people jumped out of the way as she ran, as fast as she could, back to Sam's room. There were a couple of twists in the hallways and the numbers on the doors didn't seem familiar, but she just _knew_ she would find Sam.

There were footsteps behind her, big and clunky, and she vaguely registered the sound of her father calling out her name. All of this was ignored in favor of the task at hand.

She wove through hallways, ducking under nurses with arm fulls of clothing and running around patients. The only thing on her mind was finding which room her sister was in, and making it to her. She didn't think about the consequences, or about how they would probably find her and force her to leave anyways, because those things were trivial. What she needed was S _ammy,_ and that wasn't going to happen unless she just kept running, taking turns and twists that they couldn't follow.

Eventually, the sound of footsteps had faded away in the noise. She looked around to find that in all actuality, she was pretty close to where Sam was in the first place. Luck must have been on her side, because she encountered no one on her short jog to the room she remembered.

She busted into the room, the door actually shaking on it's hinges as she plowed through. Sam's head whipped around from the television she was watching, and Dean saw her eyes briefly light up, before it turned into confusion.

“Dean?” She questioned, eyebrows pulling together.

“No time to talk. We have to get you out of here, Sammy, they're trying to keep you here.” Dean said, running over to where Sam was and wrapping her in her arms. The fear of having to leave her sister was all-consuming, entirely panic-enducing. She couldn't leave Sam behind, she couldn't-

A doctor ran into the room, taking one look at Dean before he stomped over. Dean let a scream escape her lips, clinging even tighter than before to her sister. Sam tried to pull away and see what was going on, but she found herself in an _absolutely_ inescapable grasp.

“No! I have to protect her!” Dean screamed, hugging Sammy tighter. Sammy had given up struggling now and was running a hand soothingly through Dean's hair, mumbling something into Dean's ear. Dean heard the words, but she couldn't really stop to think of what they meant.

“You have to let go of her, or I'll force you.” The man said, plainly. He didn't look overwhelmed or threatened or intimidated, and that _scared_ Dean. He was strong. He could probably carry her out of here, even if she was kicking and screaming.

“Over my dead fucking body!” She cried out. He stepped forward, his hands reaching out, clearly intent on grabbing Dean.

Dean finally released Sam from her grasp, her hands falling to instead grip the metal railing to the bed.

The man grabbed her around the waist and he pulled, but she held on fast. As he began to move the bed moved with her, moving back a good two feet from where it was. He immediately stopped, calling out for help as he saw that she couldn't be removed. One of his hands fell to the bed to keep it still, while the other one continued it's efforts in trying to pull her off. Dean kicked him as hard as she could, and he stumbled back.

“Sammy, Sammy,” She said, while the man groaned in pain. She grabbed Sam's face in the heat of the moment, bringing her forward sharply for a small kiss. Sam made a sound of surprise in the back of her throat. Of course, they hadn't given each other kisses in a long time. “I won't let them take me away from you.” Dean said.

“Dean I have to stay here. I'm not healthy, and they won't let you stay with me.” Sam said. Dean let a tear slide down her face, knowing that it was true.

“I love you Sammy. I love you so much, don't let them hurt you.” She started to cry. Sammy's own eyes filled with tears and they hugged again, both of them holding each other tight, as if they might not get the chance again. The again, who knew? Because somebody was bursting into the room, and grabbing Dean's arms, and all the struggling and kicking and screaming in the world wasn't going to get her out of this.

“Sammy!” She shrieked, pulling against the arms wrapped tightly around her own. “SAMMY!”

“Dean!” Sam responded, starting to move towards her sister. Sam didn't want Dean to go, and she couldn't fight it anymore. She didn't want to be in this damn hospital. But somebody was behind her and holding her back, and she gave up all too quick. She didn't have the physical strength that Dean had.

Dean started sobbing, letting the cries wrack her body as they dragged her along. As soon as they let her go, she fell to her knees, burying her face in her hands and shaking her head over and over again.

“Dean, it's time to go.” Somebody said. Dean looked up, blinking the tears out of her eyes.

She knew that there was nothing she could do.

~~~

That night, Dean's bed felt cold and empty. Her blankets were too large without another body next to her, and she knew that if she tried to sleep now, her dreams would be full of fire and brimstone.

She turned over in her bed, facing the wall.

Despite Dean's best efforts to stay awake, she felt herself slowly drifting into sleep.

In her dream, she was on a fishing dock. The air was warm, maybe a little humid, and the water crashing against the dock posts made for an interesting sound. It all seemed just a little too peaceful for a dream when Sammy wasn't around, but she wasn't about to complain.

A small sound to her right caused her to do a quick turn. A man with shaggy black hair was wearing a trench coat, a blue tie draped from his neck, done up backwards. His eyes were a crystal clear blue, and he seemed familiar in some odd way. Dean thought about being afraid, but she couldn't really fear him. There was just something that she couldn't put her finger on, something... gentle.

“You know, I have a way to save your sister.” He said, conversationally. Dean perked up in her seat.

For once, one of her dreams wasn't just a crazy fantasy of another time. For once, she was dreaming about something good that could happen. No matter how delusional, crazy, absolutely _insane_ it was to think that it might have any effect on real life, she wanted to. She needed to believe in something good right now.

“Enlighten me.” She said, but the voice was not her own. It was gruff, manly.

It sounded like the voice she had when she was screaming in hell.

“All he has to do is say yes.” The man said. Dean's vision started to blur and the form of the angel started to waver, as if she was looking at him through a fun house mirror. She looked down at her hands in shock- they were her own hands again, instead of the rough and calloused hands she'd had before.

“Say yes to what?” She asked. The man turned sharply towards her, his eyes widening as he witnessed what was happening.

“This call is being disrupted. Soon I'll lose my corporeal form.” He said, sounding worried. “You'll sink into your memories if you don't wake up.”

“What the hell? What should Sammy say yes to?” She demanded, but her vision was flickering. Red started to intrude around the edges, a red that she knew all too well. Panic rose up in her chest as she looked down at her hands again- large, rough, calloused. But, most shockingly, violently flickering in between blood splattered and clean.

“Dean?” The thing called. Dean could no longer see the trench coat and the blue tie, but had to shield her eyes from the brilliantly bright light radiating from where he had been standing. “Dean, you have to listen to me! I don't have time to explain!”

The man's voice was filled with an underlying sound of whining, almost like a ringing in her ears. As he continued to talk it got worse and worse, louder and louder, and pretty soon, Dean knew she wouldn't be able to understand much longer.

“How do we save Sammy?” She shouted. Her voice was gruff again, and she was yelling over the tormented souls of hell. Desperation threatened to claw her from the inside out as she yelled it, again, “How do we save Sammy!”

“He just needs to _say yes!_ ” The form said. The rest of what he had tagged on was lost in an indefinite whine, as he blinked out of the dream world. Dean found herself (well, right now, _himself_ ) briefly wondering why the thing had called Sam a 'he'. Of course, he didn't wonder much longer with a knife being plunged into his stomach and twisted, until he was begging for mercy at the hands of a faceless evil.

She awoke three hours later, sweat covering her face and laying in a fine sheen across her skin.

“Sammy has to say yes.” She whispered to herself, in between gulps of fresh air.

The smell of her bedroom helped to chase away the smell of sulfur still fresh in her mind.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos/ review, please!


	3. Then There Were Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for this update taking so long. They will usually come much quicker, but unfortunately this chapter took me four and a half hours with me being sick and even though I've had it done for a few days, we don't currently have internet at our house. My files are on my computer and so I can't just use my phone's data to publish. We're moving and I can't possibly get anywhere to update as often as I'd like. So, yeah, just generally sorry.

~~~~~~~~~Ancient Japan, year unknown~~~~~~~~~~~

Dean had talked to her sister about it. They had quietly discussed in hushed voices the reasoning behind suitors passing them up, and people smiling when they even so much as brushed against each other.

“It's ridiculous!” Sam laughed, smiling broadly. “I mean, it explains a lot though. This guy who told me, and I quote, he 'had a thing for tall girls' was totally going to ask dad for my hand until you came along and it came out that we were twins. Why don't you think anyone's told us before now?” Sammy asked.

Dean, of course, remembered the incident clearly. He was a scrawny bastard that their father would have never allowed Sam to go home with anyways.

“I'm not sure. But... When Yuri told me, she seemed not quite to be herself. I have the feeling she won't remember it all that well.” Dean admitted, rubbing her arm nervously. She needed Sam to know so that she didn't talk about it with Yuri, or get Yuri in trouble by telling one of her elders she had said it, in case it was something that they weren't to know.

Sam's eyes, however, flickered with an odd kind of curiosity and _knowing._ She seemed to hesitate for a moment, thinking through her words. Dean felt her stomach do this odd flip of hope as Sam began, “Like, her eyes flickered with blue?”

“Yes, that's exactly it.” Dean said, slowly. She sat back and narrowed her eyes at Sam, and her head tilted to the side. “Sam, how did you know that?”

Sam took a shaky breath, and she closed her eyes for a moment. When she opened them again, they were full of seriousness and hesitation. She was clearly worried about telling Dean what she knew. “You have to promise me you'll take this serious, Dean. You can't tell anyone what I'm about to tell you.”

“Sammy, you can tell me anything. You know this.” Dean said, reaching a hand out to wrap in her sister's. Ever since they were small, physical affection had been their best means of comfort. Of course, they were very careful not to do anything too affectionate out in public. It was considered rude for them to openly display something like that. Even if people did smile at them, they weren't raised in a barn.

“Well, it all started when we were younger. You remember when the guy selling the books was able to fix my basket? His eyes flickered with this crystal blue colour, something I could live a million years and never forget. Then, about a month after that, somebody was having a random conversation with me, and their eyes did the same thing. And get this; it's been happening every once in awhile ever since then. The people who have it always talk and walk the same way. I know I sound crazy, but I think something's been following me around since then.” She admitted. As she talked, she relaxed, seeing that Dean wasn't judging her. In fact, Dean's face was pulled up into a large smile.

“Sammy, that's the same thing that's been happening to me all of this time.” She admitted, unable to stop the grin on her face. She'd thought she was crazy, and it had been eating her up inside to be keeping this from her sister. “I think some kind of mystic-mojo-crap-thing can see how awesome we are.”

“Dude, take this seriously.” Sam hissed, elbowing her sister in the arm. Dean snickered, shaking her head.

“I am taking it seriously, Sam. I'm really happy that I'm not alone in this. But, what do you think it wants?” Dean asked. Her sister shook her head, obviously as lost as she was.

“Maybe it just likes us?” She suggested, shrugging. Dean shook her head.

She thought through everything the spirit had done, and everything that it had said. There had been a million different encounters, from brief passings to twenty minute conversations, and in not one of them did it give away any indication of it's intentions. Well, the thing _did_ mention gods once, but that was only in their most recent conversation, and only to tell her that-

_Oh._ Dean froze, realization dawning on her. “Sam.”

Sam looked up, confusion written on her face. “Dean, what is it?”

“The last time we talked, it mentioned that twins were starcrossed lovers, chosen by the gods. If that's not superstition,” Dean said, hoping that her words would be enough to distract from the blush that rose up on her cheeks, “What if that's the god that chose us? Sam, what if it's trying to make up for our shitty past life?”

Sam's eyebrows rose upwards briefly, but she took a moment to think before speaking. As she tossed around the words in her head, the more and more they seemed like they were more and more likely to be true. But, that left something to be thought about.

“You really believe we might have been lovers in another life, Dean?” Sam asked. Dean flinched from the question, not wanting to have to answer so soon. She knew this was coming, though. She knew that it was going to come out eventually, her feelings for her sister.

“I don't know what to think.” Dean said, breathing out a heavy sigh. “It's the option that makes the most sense. Everyone seems to think we're in love anyways.” She finished the last part in a loud, exasperated tone, throwing out a hand to emphasize what she was saying. “Is it really _that_ out of the realm of possibilities?”

Sam waited for her sister to calm down a little bit before she answered. “No, I don't think it is, Dean.”

Dean perked up at that. “Because you know, I could work the fields. When mom and dad are gone, I could take care of things. We would never have to leave each other that way.”

“I think we're getting a little ahead of ourselves here,” Sam laughed. There was a small smile on her face, a smile that made all the difference to Dean. “But if this spirit did bring us here specifically because he wanted us to have a good life, I think we'd better thank it. Because I don't know about you, but I'm grateful that we're together, Dean.”

Dean smiled, feeling her insides light up with a warmth she had never felt before. Her sister loved her too, and they were never going to be separated. “Yeah, alright. Let's set up out own little shrine, in the forest.”

~~~

They went out the next day, with a basket full of fruit and spare wood. The small house they were going to build would be the perfect place for the spirit, a place where they could place offerings. Of course, the place for the spirit to actually sit would most likely remain empty, unless it decided to show it's face.

But most of the spirit houses remained empty. The small shrine Dean had visited and talked to the spirit in front of had empty houses, as most spirits tended to go out into the forest on their own. Not many enjoyed being fawned over by the people. People could be overwhelming sometimes.

They worked all day long. Both of them knew that their mother was probably looking for them, and their father was probably worried sick. They chose not to focus on that, instead hoping to complete the house by nightfall. They had a reputation for running off and doing things on their own every once in awhile, so people didn't look for them when things like this happened.

By the time they were done, Dean was absolutely starving, but they had a full place of worship. Sam had done most of the painting, Dean had done most of the building, and it looked shabby, yes, but good. It would do, especially for a spirit that had asked for nothing.

Dean left a couple of fruit by the opening, figuring that they had enough food back at home. She glanced over at Sam, sitting underneath a tree and trying to practice her writing, gesturing for her to look at the final touches. Sam scanned over their work and she smiled.

“Well Dean, I think we did a pretty good job for a couple of girls.” Sam teased, putting an arm around Dean's shoulders. “Where did you learn to do that, anyways?”

“I snuck and watched dad help build one a couple of years back. I'm a pretty quick learner.” She said, nodding her head. She was fairly satisfied with her work. For a woman, who was only supposed to provide entertainment and care for children, she had done a damn good job so far of being useful in her life. It was well worth the odd looks and snide comments of strangers, those who didn't know Dean's nature.

“Well then, you'd better _learn_ how to walk home. It's getting late and we've been gone long enough.” Sam told her, waiting momentarily for Dean to brush off her hands and walk back. They fell into step beside each other as they walked, both satisfied with the day. 

“You left behind the blank stone for the thing's name, right?” Sam questioned, and Dean nodded her head.

That had, of course, been Sam's idea. Sam thought that if the spirit were to notice what they were doing, it would leave it's name behind as a sign that it was pleased with what they had done. Dean didn't know whether or not it was even really plausible, but she figured it couldn't hurt anything. If they knew the thing's name, maybe they could have conversations with it.

“You know, I'm actually glad people leave us alone.” Dean mumbled. “I could never imagine leaving you behind for some stuck-up lord. You're way more awesome.”

“Neither could I. Dean,” Sam said, pausing. Dean stopped her steps too, turning towards her sister curiously. “Do you think we should do something to test out the theory? Like, something to make sure that we really are meant to be together?”

“What could do that?” Dean asked, shuffling her feet nervously. Yeah, she felt strongly for Sam. But she didn't know if she wanted to find out if they were meant to be together. What if they weren't? What if all of it was a giant freaking lie, and Dean's hopes were all for nothing? Or even worse, what if she thought they were meant to be together, and then Sam didn't?

Dean didn't know if she was prepared for that kind of rejection.

“Well, we could kiss.” Sam suggested. Dean felt a thousand butterflies rise up in her stomach and threaten to overwhelm her. Kissing Sam? She wanted to. She wanted to very, very badly.

“I, I guess we could try that.” She agreed. Sam turned around, and Dean could see intent in her eyes. She felt her jaw drop open. “What, you mean like _now_?”

“No Dean, when we're already married off to some pompous lords who don't know about the legend.” Sam mocked, then quickly added, “Yes I mean now, you jerk.”

“Don't be a bitch about this.” Dean teased right back, out of habit more than anything. She was still nervous about it, nervous about Sam's potential reaction.

“Alright, whatever dude. Just kiss me.” Sam said, stepping a little closer.

Dean could tell that she was nervous, too. It was written all over her face, in her posture, in the nervous hesitation that was there just a moment before she bent down. Sam wanted this, too, and Dean could tell. Both of them were hoping and praying that this wasn't all nonsense. That knowledge gave Dean the strength to cross the space left between their lips. 

Sam's lips were chapped and dry, but warm and pliant against Dean's. There was nothing especially remarkable about the kiss, (not counting that it was both of their first) but it felt  _right_ . Deep down, both of them felt like they had done this before, and were meant to do it now, and they wanted to do it a thousand times over before they had to leave each other. 

Dean pulled away slowly, reluctant to leave the beauty that was Sam's kiss.

“I don't think it's just a legend.” She said, quietly. There was a short pause from Sam before her answer came.

“Neither do I.”

~~~~~~~~~~Present Day~~~~~~~

The hospital was just as unfriendly as Dean remembered it, and she wrinkled her nose in agitation as she was forced inside it's automatic doors once again.

But she knew this time that she had a mission. She had to tell Sam to say yes, and Sam had to understand just how dang important it was. There was no way she could communicate something like that over the phone, and especially not if one of them couldn't get away for the phone call. If she saw Sam in person, she could make sure nobody overheard their conversation.

This was too important to let someone interfere.

Several doctors greeted them, and Dean didn't listen to the conversation. It was mostly smalltalk anyways; they never said anything about what was going on with Sam around her.

She had managed to avoid talking until one of them knelt in front of her. A quick scan of his form revealed that it was the doctor she had kicked; one of the ones that tried to take her away from Sam. She immediately put on a sour face, making sure that he knew he was  _not_ welcome to talk to her.

He just laughed, probably used to moody children. “Ah, this is the one with the strong legs. Say, where'd you learn that language? Those kinds of words aren't very lady-like.”

He was clearly teasing, but she still wasn't fond of him. And, especially wasn't fond of being held to a standard based on her sex.

“Fuck you.” She said back, standing up straighter. Her father's eyes widened and her mother gasped.

“Dean!” She scolded, “We do _not_ talk to adults that way!” 

The man just started laughing even harder, seemingly amused with the whole thing. Despite her best efforts, Dean actually felt a small bit of fondness blooming. Most adults would have been offended by that, because most adults put themselves on a pedestal above children. This man seemed much more down to earth than most adults.

“It's fine, don't worry about it. I took her away from her sister, who she clearly cares for a lot. I'm sure she'll warm up to me eventually. Especially once she knows how much Sammy enjoys my company.” He informed them. Dean was suddenly very interested.

“You know where Sammy is? Will we see her soon?” She asked. The man thought for a moment, before turning to her parents.

“If she promises not to do what she did last time, can I go ahead and take her to her sister while you two speak with the doctor? Sam has been complaining about missing her ever since you left.” He said. Dean's parents hesitated, clearly not certain that Dean was capable of behaving herself.

“Well, it has been three days since they've seen each other.” Her mother said, reluctantly. “Dean, promise Dr. Robinson you'll behave yourself, and you can go.”

“I promise.” Dean said, immediately. Anything so that she could see Sam, and even better if there were few adults around. Mr. Robinson didn't look like the kind of adult to be nosy.

“Alright, go along.” Her dad said. She started to walk down the hallway immediately, figuring that Dr. Robinson would follow, when her dad's voice rang again, in warning this time, “You'd better be good, Dean. I mean it, or else you'll be grounded once Sam does come home.”

Dean nodded her head submissively, choosing not to mention that she had ways to get around a grounding. She waited until Dr. Robinson had walked in front of her to continue, figuring that being patient would help her case.

The walk there felt like absolute agony. She wanted to be with Sam and talk to Sam and no matter how fast Dr. Robinson seemed to move, it was never fast enough. She didn't want to waste any time with her sister, and she knew that the doctors didn't take long to talk to her parents sometimes. She could have anywhere from two minutes to twenty alone with Sam, and she didn't want to risk not having enough time.

Finally, they arrived at Sam's door. She rushed forward to get in, but found Dr. Robinson's hand stopping her in her tracks. She knew that she could bat it aside and continue on in, but she'd promised her parents that she'd be good, and she intended to keep that promise.

“Dean, Sam is very, very weak. She's not gotten any better in the last few days. I just don't want you to be shocked when she looks worse, okay?” He asked, his voice gentle. Dean nodded her head, actually thankful for the warning. “I'll wait out here so you two can have some alone time.”

“Thank you.” Dean said, quietly. She was liking this doctor more and more, even if he did originally grate on her nerves.

He moved his hand and she walked into the room, turning her head to look at her sister.

Sammy looked even thinner than before, if that was possible. Her hair wasn't shiny, and her eyes had bags around them. Despite the fact that she was huddled in a mound of covers, she still looked cold. She saw Dean, and it took her a few seconds to really react.

“Dean?” She asked, sounding confused. She had apparently decided that it was, in fact, her sister, because then a huge grin stretched across her face. “Climb in bed with me. It's cold without you.”

Dean couldn't tell her sister no. She crossed the room as quick as possible, pulling up the covers that surrounded Sam's body. Being careful not to disturb any wires that connected her sister to various machines, she crawled onto the mattress. Sammy seemed small and cold as she cuddled up against her big sister, an arm being thrown carelessly around Dean's shoulders.

“Sammy, I have something important to tell you.” Dean said, knowing she had no time to waste. Sam made a small noise of acknowledgment, and Dean took it as permission to continue. “You have to say yes.”

Sam paused, looking over at Dean with confusion in her eyes. “Dean, what do you mean by that? I'm already doing whatever the doctors say to.”

“Trust me Sammy, you'll know what I mean. When it comes, you'll know it.” Dean said, praying that she was right. Sammy still looked confused, but she nodded her head. “It's so you'll get better.”

“Having you here already makes me feel better.” Sam put in, snuggling against her sister.

Before Dean got the chance to respond, the doors were open, and her parents were inside.

It felt like all too soon that Dean had to leave her sister yet again.

~~~

In the car ride back home, her parents told Dean about what the doctors had said.

Her mother's voice was trembling, and tears silently streamed down her father's face as he said, “They know what's happening, but not how to fix it. Honey, I think you need to be prepared for Sammy not getting better. She might not be with us anymore soon.”

“What do you mean?” Dean demanded. “The doctors were supposed to fix her; that's why she's there.”

“They're trying their hardest sweetie, but they're not miracle workers. If Sam goes, she'll be in a better place.” Her mother informed her, almost choking on her own words with half of a sob. Dean didn't like that. She knew what that really meant; she'd seen it on a television show.

“She'll get better mom.” She said, passionately. She didn't like people talking about Sammy like that, especially not when she knew that Sammy would get better. Her voice broke when she added, “She has to.”

Dean held fast to the hope that Sam would say yes. She held fast to the hope that her sister would be okay. She believed.

Even if the tears streaming down her face may have said otherwise.

~~~

It was that night, when it came.

Everything felt cold, and she never felt full. No matter how many needles they poked her with or what kinds of food they gave her to eat, nothing seemed to help. Her eyes kept drifting closed as exhaustion threatened to overwhelm her, despite the fact that she'd already napped just a few short hours ago.

It seemed like nothing helped. Sam felt like she would be sick forever.

But then, it came.

Lightning cackled outside, filling the air with electricity. Sam's eyes closed, concentrating on blocking out the sound in order to sleep. It wasn't long before she gave up and opened them again, finding someone sitting at the end of her bed. Someone who had not been there before.

“Sam, I'm here to help you.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Culture note: Dean and Sam's shrine is what's referred to as a "shinto" shrine. If you google "Japanese roadside shinto shrine", some of the smaller ones will look like what they made. 
> 
> Please review/kudos!


	4. Four Weeks Later

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to note that while this chapter has a past life that is not the Japan past life, the Japan past life is NOT over. It's just on the backburner for a couple of chapters while it waits for the next time it will be able to further the plot. 
> 
> If you would like to follow me on tumblr, my URL is "mysticmoonhigh", and I'm doing blog rates tonight in celebration of this fic. Eventually on my tumblr will be some fanart I'm working on, and a timestamp that will be released when this fic is over, putting everything in order. Just so y'all don't get confused. 
> 
> Don't worry though, the end of this fic is still a long ways away.

~~~~~~~~~~~Present Day~~~~~~~~~~~

Dean was glad that it would be the last time she saw the hospital.

She wasn't going to miss the pristine white walls or the smell of death that drifted through the corridors. She wasn't going to miss all the nurses that had refused her right to visit Sam ever since three weeks ago, claiming that the area she was in was “restricted for minor visitors”, and she wasn't going to miss the playroom where toddlers smeared paint in her hair and drooled all over everything while her parents visited Sammy.

However, she _was_ going to miss Dr. Robinson, who had allowed Dean to write Sam a letter every day they came and promised that it would get to her. Dean was grateful to have an adult that understood. (In fact, he even told Dean that he didn't agree with the rules that kept her from seeing Sam).

But today, Sammy would be released. Her parents called it a miracle, said that the doctors didn't even know why it was happening, just that it was. Sammy had stopped going downhill, and had slowly improved until she was allowed to go home. They still had to be gentle with her; she was far from better, but she was getting there. She was better enough that the doctors wanted her to be at home. They said that they wanted her to have as much time at home as possible, because it would be better for her to be someplace where she was comfortable.

Sammy still had to come back every week for checkups until she was better, but Dean didn't have to go with them. Dean had turned seven and a half while Sam was at the hospital, and she was old enough that she could stay at home instead of going. She was, obviously, very happy about that.

Her parents were signing papers at the desk when Dean saw her. Sammy, walking out of the hospital, no longer wearing a hospital gown, but the clothes that she had come in.

Dean couldn't have stopped herself if she tried. She ran to Sammy, throwing her arms around her sister and pulling her close. Sammy was warm again; not the cold, shivering mess she had been last time Dean had seen her. Her hair was healthier, less brittle. She had a little more give, like she had gained weight.

However, something seemed a little... _different_. Her sister froze up when she was hugged, shuffling awkwardly from foot to foot. Dean could practically feel the swell of wonder inside of her when she started to hug back, but it didn't really feel like _her._ Dean pulled away just a little bit, looking into Sam's eyes, hoping to find answers for the behavior that could only be described as... _odd._

A flicker of blue in the depths of Sam's eyes became her answer.

Dean reared back, eyes widening. She looked around quickly, to see if any adults had noticed her reaction. They all seemed too caught up in talking to each other, but Dean knew that Dr. Robinson had saw.

“Dean, what is it?” He questioned. Dean turned towards him, and it only took her a split second to decide that telling the grown ups wasn't a good idea. Not a good idea at all.

“Nothing, Dr. Robinson.” She said pleasantly, smiling. “I was just surprised that Sam was able to hug back so strong. She's been sick for awhile now.” Dean admitted. Dr. Robinson seemed to buy it, nodding his head in understanding.

“Well, let's hope that it stays that way.” He said, smiling at them. He patted Sam on the back and she stepped forward, giving Dean this little half-smile that showed that she wasn't really her.

Sam was different. Dean could _feel_ that something was different, and that whatever was standing before her, while it shared Sam's body, was not her sister. Her sister had a different kind of presence, an aura, if you want to think of it that way. Dean worried for a brief moment that this was her doing. She worried that Sam had said yes to something taking her place, and that she'd never get her sister back.

And wouldn't that just be Dean's luck?

“Dean, Sam!” Their parents called out. Their father scooped Sam up into his arms from behind, and she froze, stiff as a board, and eyes wide with confusion as she was placed on his shoulders. If it weren't for the fact that whatever it was was using Sam's body to do it, Dean would have found it comical.

“Come on, Sammy, let's get the two of you home.” He said, smiling up at his daughter.

“Of course. Home.” Not-Sam repeated.

Dean felt a little bit sick.

~~~

When they were home, they had a big meal to celebrate Sam being there. Mom and dad laughed and smiled, passing around the food. Nobody but Dean seemed to notice that Sam barely ate more than a few bites.

Dean was at a loss as to what to do. What if this thing couldn't even read? Sam had cared so much about her grades, she'd die if they went down. If she came back to find out she-

Dean shook the thought right out of her head. She couldn't think about _if._ Sam _would_ come back; she had to. Dean knew that if she had strayed her sister wrong, if something unspeakable had happened to Sam because Dean told her to say yes, then... well, then Dean would feel guilty for the rest of her life.

Dean decided right then that she wasn't going to let that happen. She would get the thing alone in the next day or two, and she would demand to know what it had done with her sister. She couldn't do it while they were in the house because she couldn't let their parents overhear, but maybe it would be okay to talk to the thing in the woods? It was far enough away that their parents wouldn't be able to eavesdrop, even if Dean had to yell at Not-Sam, and if the thing let Sam come back, then Dean would have time to explain what had happened to her.

With her plan set firmly in place, Dean felt a little bit better about everything, and she was able to eat a little more, even enjoy her family's happiness.

But reality came crashing back to her that night. She woke up screaming, sweating from the fire and pain that had been consuming her, and there was no Sammy hanging over the bars. Not-Sam stayed in Sam's bed, didn't move, even as Dean panted and squirmed, trying to get herself to calm down.

She closed her eyes tightly, running a hand through her hair. Of course whatever was up there wouldn't care about her. The thought only increased her longing for her sister, and she didn't notice she was crying until big, fat tears were rolling down her cheeks and falling onto her hands.

~~~

The next day, they got home from school and Dean ran to their room, as they always did. Not-Sam followed, but instead of slinging her backpack down by the door like she usually did, she kept it onto her back.

“So, do you want to go play in the woods today?” Dean asked, pretending like everything was normal. She could only hope that whatever the thing was would go along with the suggestion, so that she could get her answers.

Not-Sam paused, brow furrowing as she thought it through. “I suppose. It's not too chilly for you, is it?”

“I'll grab a jacket. You should grab one too, so mom doesn't get angry at us when we come inside. And you should go put your backpack by the door like we're s'posed to.” Dean informed her, not really sure why she was keeping the thing out of trouble. It wasn't really Sam.

Of course, she had the suspicion that whatever it was, she had known it before. She remembered the same blue flicker in the eyes of strangers when she was in Japan, the God that may have brought them together. But she couldn't really trust those memories anymore; not when this thing had worked it's way into her dreams to get her to tell Sam to say yes. It could have just as easily created false memories so that Dean would trust it.

“Okay. Thank you, Dean.” Not-Sam said, nodding her head. She promptly exited the room and came back a few minutes later, backpack deposited and a coat wrapped around her shoulders.

“Are you ready to go?” Dean asked, raising her eyebrows at Not-Sam. In return, Not-Sam nodded her head briefly, glancing towards the door and waiting for Dean to lead them out. Dean did so, taking a few strides ahead of Not-Sam before turning to make sure she was being followed.

She turned to find Not-Sam much closer than she expected, and her heart stopped as her view was filled with those eyes, and for a moment, she was reminded of another time, the man with the trench coat standing but inches from her face, blue eyes staring intensely into her-no, not right then, _his,_ own.

Then she was slammed back to reality, and the eyes were brown again. “Sam, personal space.”

Not-Sam took a step back.

Dean turned around and opened up the door, walking through the living room and out into the front yard, Not-Sam fresh on her heels.

She didn't know where that had come from. Usually, her visions of the past only came when she slept. Sure, they'd happened during the day a couple of times. However, it had never quite happened in a situation like this. It had to have been triggered by Not-Sam, by the flicker of blue in her eyes. But, the memory was of a time Dean had never seen before, of the man in the trench coat that she'd met only in a dream, not a memory. But... Could this be confirmation that Dean had known Not-Sam before? And that Not-Sam was truly the man in the trench coat, who had spoken to her in the dream?

Dean had been so wrapped up in her thoughts she'd been walking on autopilot, and she almost passed the tree house. She shook her head to clear it before taking the ladder in her hand and using it to slowly scale her way up the tree, knowing that Not-Sam was following behind.

They finally reached the top, and Dean sat against the wall, watching Not-Sam emerge from the entrance in the floor. She crawled in and sat against the wall across from Dean's, where Sam usually sat. It felt wrong to have someone else there, even if they shared Sam's body.

“How was your day at school?” Not-Sam asked, conversationally. She was unnaturally still against the other wall, body seeming to be locked up.

“It was good. I mean, what little of it I could concentrate. Because,” Dean started, leaning forward, “You see, I kept wondering what the fuck is inside my little sister.”

The thing gave a sigh, looking up towards the ceiling, as if not looking at Dean would avoid Dean's wrath. “You weren't supposed to find out until I could leave.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean? Who are you, and what do you want?” Dean demanded, crawling forward and grabbing Not-Sam's face, turning it towards her. “You're inside of my sister, and I want her back.”

“I'm sorry, but I'm afraid I can't do that.” She responded, her eyes drifting upwards again. Dean growled in frustration, resisting the urge to slam her shoulders up against the wall. The only thing that kept her from lashing out was the fear that Sam would feel it if she did. Well, if Sam was even really in there anymore.

“Why the hell not?” Dean demanded, her voice coming out as an icy growl. The thing's eyes finally turned towards his own, and its shoulders shifted and rolled. The air suddenly sparked with power, and Dean backed up, just a little bit. Not-Sam was glaring now, clearly annoyed.

“Because I can't. Maybe I'll give you some more information, but I _can't_ right now. All you need to know is that I'm keeping your brother alive, and without me, he will die. I don't care how much you want Sam back. Unless you want him dead, I suggest you be grateful.” Not-Sam said. There was a flash of light, and a shadowy outline of wings appeared on the wall behind her. Dean's eyes widened to the size of dinner plates.

Again, her memory flickered her to another time. Shotguns and the banging of roof panels in the wind, an explosion of sparks as the man in the trench coat came strolling in. The same flash of light, the same shadow-wings on the wall.

“Are you the man in the trench coat?” Dean gasped out, before she could stop herself. Her vision returned to reality in just enough time to see Not-Sam rear her head back in surprise. “That's why you called Sam my brother, isn't it? Because we were male when you knew us last.”

“How do you remember? Dean, _how much_ do you remember?” Not-Sam asked, putting stress on her words as a kind of reserved fear filled her eyes. Dean shook her head.

“I keep getting little glimpses of you, and dreams. But that's all I know.” Dean admitted, rubbing her arms. Not-Sam's gaze flickered with relief before turning cold and calculating.

“I'll tell you what you need to know in due time. But it's not safe for you to know too much. Do you understand, Dean?” Not-Sam asked. Dean paused, considering.

“Can you tell me that Sam is safe?” She asked. “You haven't killed her and taken her body?”

“Of course I haven't. She's safe, but she can't come out right now. She requires more healing for that. Possibly a great deal of healing.” Not-Sam said, gravely. “Your sister came close to dying, Dean.”

“Okay. Then yeah, for now, I'm okay. But, can I at least know your name?” Dean asked. Not-Sam shook her head no, frowning.

“I wish I could tell you, but I don't believe that would be best. For now, just call me as you would Sam.” She informed her.

“Fine. But you'd better tell me soon.” Dean mumbled. For now, Not-Sam looked satisfied with that.

“But yes,” Not-Sam put in, a small smile turning up the corner of his mouth. “I am the man in the trench coat.”

~~~~~~~~~~ Approximately 975 AD~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dean watched as the flames licked towards the sky, her stomach dropping.

She didn't want to do this. It seemed like she was cut out to be a warrior from the moment she was born, with her strength and endurance for fighting, but nobody cared to factor in that she actually had _morals._ The rest of her “team” (she used the term lightly. Though they were technically her allies, she felt no loyalty towards them) raped and pillaged villages, taking for their own whatever they so desired.

Dean could never bring herself to do that. She simply did as she was told, fighting off the forces that tried to attack when they landed in a new area. After the initial wave, she would sit back and leave the barbaric acts to the rest of the party. Often times, she would sharpen the weapons or clean the place a little while everyone was gone. The chef had been more than grateful for her contributions to dinner. Often, she would pick up recipes from the lands they were invading. (It was surprising how much information people were willing to give out when you treated them with some respect).

Of course, the chef wasn't the only one grateful for Dean's presence. She'd been referred to time and time again as a “priceless addition” to the fighters. She was on track for a promotion, if she kept it up the way she was going. As much as she wanted to make her dad proud, she didn't know how well she would deal with being in command of her own ship.

She may have been a good fighter, but she was a fairly poor viking.

It wasn't long until her comrades came back, hitting each other around and laughing, some drunk off of stolen wine or the screams of their victims. Her interest peaked when a couple of them were on either end of a chain of rope, to which ten people were tied to, all in a row. Most of them looked strong, but one man in particular was a good four inches taller than Dean.

That made her curious. She turned to the nearest, a plucky man who clutched a half-full brew in his hand. “What of the prisoners?”

“We lost a few of our slaves to dehydration on the way over here. It was the only way our own men could drink. We needed new ones, so they hand picked the best of this village. Our next land is going to be a long row away.” He said, ending the speech with a hiccup. He leaned over and added, “I heard the place is even named “Greenland”. We'll have a bountiful territory in that one!”

Dean disregarded his last statement, instead choosing to focus on the answer to her question. Slaves, eh? Well, she knew that they had had enough water to go around, but she didn't put it past her fellow warriors to kill a few and blame it on that.

“Thanks.” She mumbled, following behind the men who would lead the slaves down to the ship's oars. They would most likely be put to work straight away, to weed out the ones that weren't going to be useful. After all, they couldn't feed the ones that weren't going to be productive.

She followed down to the bottom, ignoring the putrid smell of salty tears and sweat and filth. Underneath it all was the distinguished smell of piss and blood, which were possibly even more repulsive to those that they had come from. Dean didn't quite know why she was following them down there, subjecting herself to this, but she _did_ know that the tall one intrigued her.

Something about him just felt oddly familiar. It was like having deja vu; she couldn't just let it go. She had to pursue this interest, even if it seemed ridiculous even to her.

Her eyes followed as they were all hooked up to the oars, replacing some of the other slaves. One of them immediately collapsed from exhaustion, falling in a pile of it's own piss on the floor. Dean wished again that her people had more compassion towards those whom they “employed”, but she knew that that would be asking too much of the savages.

The men who had secured the slaves pushed past her, leaving only the guard there, beating the drum to signal when they should row. The tall one seemed frightened and angry, but he was doing okay with the physical labor. At least, moreso than the rest.

With a final glance over her shoulder, she walked back up the stairs, and into the sunlight.

Though, in her heart, she knew she would be back.

At the very least, she needed to know the name of the intriguing slave.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please comment/kudos!


	5. Two Days, Two Questions, One Sleepover

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took nine days. Once Christmas break is here I can guarantee I'll update a lot more. But right now I have a lot of stuff to worry about, but y'know. Sorry y'all.  
> This chapter mainly focuses on Dean/Cas interaction. There will be more flashback next chapter.

Dean spent the next couple of days avoiding the spirit, and pretending like things were how they were when Sam was in the hospital.

It was probably the closest thing to torture that she had endured. Every night after the viking warship, her dreams were of fire and blood. She woke up shaking, sometimes rising to get a glass of water, always feeling the same piercing stare if she did.

It was so hard to pretend like everything was the same. Sammy's body, warm and inviting, stood before her at all hours. But it wasn't Sammy. Even if there was another presence, it was not what she wanted or what she was used to. Dean felt overwhelmingly _lonely_. Sam had been her best, and one of her only, friends. It was torture to have something that looked like her constantly around. It made her feel like she was going to go crazy.

Two days. That was all that it took.

Dean had previously prided herself on never cracking under pressure. On standing to her goals, determination, finishing what she had resolved to do. Even in her dreams, this seemed to be something that never went away. Which is why it came as a big surprise when she found herself begin to interact with the spirit.

It had been in the night. Their parents had both already gone to sleep, and Dean snuck up, fearing the nightmares that would surely take their hold if she were to close her eyes. She tip-toed down to the basement, where they had a large television they used for video games. She considered putting in a movie, but quickly came to the conclusion that that wouldn't be enough to distract her at the moment. She needed something that would keep her mind off of the swirling vortex of terror that were her thoughts.

She grabbed the remote remote and slipped in the latest _Just Dance_ , stepping back so that the sensor would be able to properly read her body. It wasn't long before she was losing herself in the music, sweat beginning to give her skin a shine as she worked. It was mindless, physical, and just what she needed to be able to lose herself.

A small shuffle was heard from behind her, almost like the sound of feathers through the air. She froze up momentarily before spinning around, fear and paranoia making her bristle.

Not-Sam stood in front of her, eyes flickering with a bright blue as she tilted her head to the side. Dean's eyes widened for a moment and her body slumped, releasing the tension from the fear of what could be behind her. “You scared the shit out of me.”

“Apologies. I noticed you weren't in bed and I wanted to make sure everything was alright.” Not-Sam mumbled, looking down at her feet. She shuffled them awkwardly, and Dean couldn't tear away her eyes. She couldn't be sure of how to react.

“I, uh, yeah. I guess everything's okay. Just, just playing a video game.” Dean gestured uselessly at the screen, where she could see that the interruption had caused her to fail the song. She expected a wave of irritation to come from the self-delivered news, but she was surprisingly calm.

There was a small ache in her chest when the spirit wasn't there. A small ache that Dean had no clue as to how long it had been there. She wasn't sure if it was because the spirit was using Sam's body, but for some reason, she wanted the thing to stick around. It seemed like she was just a little more complete with the other there beside her.

After a moment of deliberation, she chalked it up to looking like her sister.

But she was unable to ignore the flash of loneliness inside that begged to let the spirit stay anyways. Even if she was just wearing her sister, even if that was the only reason Dean wanted her there, she knew that having Not-Sam close would help to bridge that.

“You, uh, you can stay and play, if you want.” She offered, gesturing towards the screen. Not-Sam shifted her weight, biting her look and contemplating the offer.

“Maybe. I don't really know how to use technology all that much. I should- I'll just watch you.” Not-Sam said, waving a hand dismissively. Dean shrugged, turning back around and trying to ignore the eyes on her back as she began to move again. Her hips popped out back and forth to the beat, hands coming up to receive a 'perfect' as she followed the screen.

It wasn't long until the eyes on her became uncomfortable. She could no longer ignore the pointed staring, the feeling as though she was being _studied._ She flopped down onto the couch, grabbing the remote and pausing the game so she could turn back.

“Dude, I can't play with you just staring at me like that. You have to join in or look away or something.” Dean said, ignoring the small hope that the spirit would choose to join her. She shook her head to clear it, reminding herself that, while this thing was healing Sammy, there was no way it was her damn _friend_. She shouldn't let the thing in. Especially since it would leave when Sammy was better.

“I- I suppose I could give it a try.” The spirit mumbled, giving a deep sigh. It was clear that it didn't really want to, but Dean was relieved that she wouldn't be leaving. “Though I must warn you that my ability to dance may be hindered by the fact that this isn't even really my body.”

“So, you do _have_ a body?” Dean asked. Then, she decided, _why the hell not_ , and posed an entirely unprompted question. “What are you?”

“I already told you, you can't know, for your own safety.” Not-Sam said, looking at Dean sternly. Dean felt a heat boil in her veins at that.

“Listen here. You're _inside_ of my damn sister. You're using a body that isn't yours, and I feel like it's my damn fault Sam got roped into this. You have two options; tell me what you are, or tell me a damn name,” Dean spoke with passion, choosing the two questions which had most troubled her, “or you can go somewhere else while Sammy heals.”

“That would be incredibly foolish and not even remotely in the realm of options available, unless you want to plaster your sister's face to a milk carton.” Not-Sam retorted, the blue in her eyes briefly blazing. Dean could feel a sort of electric sizzle through the air, tangent, thick and demanding to be noticed. It was _power_. So much one could become dizzy from the feeling of it sliding over skin.

“I don't give a fuck at this point. I just need to _know_ something about you. All I know now is that you're in my sister, and whatever the fuck you are, you have broken and blackened wings. How am I supposed to keep from being scared as hell if you won't goddamned tell me anything?” Dean demanded, chest rising and falling in short, hard bursts as she finished. She fought off the anxiety, shaking her head.

Not-Sam seemed to soften, resolve wavering. A brief pause passed over them before she sighed, placing a hand on her head. “I'm only doing this because I still have faith in you. I have faith that giving you this information won't put either of us in danger. But I'm not giving it up for free.”

“What's your charge?” Dean asked, narrowing her eyes. The spirit paused, gathering up her wits and thinking on that.

“I want to know how you remembered I am the man in the trench coat. I would also like to know how much you remember. I'll give you the answer to one of your questions in exchange for that.”

“Deal.” Dean said, without hesitating. “I know because that's what my dreams tell me. Mom never told Sam the real reason I went to therapy, because she was too young when it first started. But I get flashbacks to things, things that scared my mom bad. She said that it was the devil trying to make me think that God isn't real.”

Dean paused for a moment there, letting herself have a small chuckle. How ridiculous to believe Satan would put _past-lives_ in her head. Of course, she actually considered the notion the first night she dreamed of hell.

“But, I remember back in Japan, when me and Sammy thought you were some kind of god that put us there so we could be together. And I don't know how it's happening, don't ask me. The man in the trench coat came from a waking flashback, when you spread your wings in the tree house. I don't have those often, but you, uh, you've actually triggered two.”

The spirit's eyes widened. “That's not supposed to happen.”

Dean snorted. “Tell me about it.”

There was a small pause, and Dean looked at the spirit expectantly. She still looked like she was mulling things over, so Dean decided to give her a few minutes.

She was counting the cracks in the ceiling when the answer came, blunt. “Angel.”

“What?” Dean asked, momentarily confused. She sure as hell hoped the spirit didn't give her some weird-ass nickname. Angel sounded odd, and she didn't know if this thing would be a pervert or not.

“I'm an angel of the Lord.” Not-Sam said, her unblinking eyes staring into Dean's. Dean stared right back, unable to push out the breath she had sucked in to respond. An actual, real-life _angel,_ sitting in the room with her. She felt her pulse speed up.

“You're an angel. Fluffy wings and halos and all.” Dena said, more of a statement than a question. She glanced at the spirit as it finally decided to stop being strange and sit down, their thighs touching on the couch.

“I understand that it may be a lot to handle.” She said, and for once, her posture dropped, just a little bit. She looked a little less awkward, a little more at home. She no longer looked like she was wearing an uncomfortable set of clothes, but rather appeared as a normal human being would.

Her leg was warm, and vaguely distracting.

“Wait,” Dean said, slowly. “If you're an angel, how come you can't just heal Sam in one burst. Don't you guys have like unlimited power or something?”

“Well, I would, but I'm attempting to hide from the host. A burst of power like that may give away my location. I'm going against a whole slew of orders right now, just by speaking to you. If they found out that I was healing Sam, I would be ripped from Sam's body and brought back to heaven. Your sister would likely be harmed in the process. It would be less than pleasant for me.” Not-Sam explained. Dean let that sink in.

“But aren't angels that rebel against heaven demons?” She asked, feeling that familiar worry start behind her ribs.

“There's...” Castiel hesitated, giving a small frown. “There's a lot that I shouldn't explain. But, I can tell you that your dreams and visions are, as far as I can tell, true. There's a lot I don't remember myself, however, what I do have matches up to what you said. You shouldn't be experiencing them, though. I'm not sure why you're remembering, or... or how much you _want_ to remember.”

Dean looked away, trying to hide how the words had affected her. Yeah, there was a lot she didn't want to remember. _Fire screams blood pain_.

The spirit hesitated, seeming uncertain as to whether or not to continue speaking. It's voice, when it did come, was hesitant and warm.

“In fact, if Sam's memories are correct, then you've already had some of those memories come back. Do you-” Not-Sam cut off, taking a small breath. “Do you remember hell?”

Dean's breath hitched as red crossed her vision again, fire licking at the edges of her perception. She blinked rapidly, shaking her head to try and rid herself of the memories. To her relief, it almost instantly stopped.

“I- I, yeah, I remember some.” She finally said, gruffly. She didn't want to talk about it.

“I'm so sorry.” Not-Sam said, her voice coming out in a near whisper. Dean glanced over to find her looking down at the ground, eyes glazed over and seemingly unattached to the surroundings. She gave a heavy sigh, the kind that their mother gave when she went through the collage of pictures from her college campus. “I never would have put this burden on your shoulders.”

“You...” Dean paused. There was more caring in that voice than she'd heard in a long time-- since she last spoke to Sammy. For this few moments, the spirit wasn't rugged and detached from the world, but rather, _present,_ drowning in emotion and memory. “Do you know if we were close?”

The thing let out a small sigh, and the side of it's mouth twitched upwards. “Yes, Dean. We were very close. I- you saved me, from a lot of things. I saved you, too. We were good. It wasn't the healthiest of relationships at times, but we were practically family.”

“Do you still have those emotions?” Dean asked, curious as to why Not-Sam had seemed so cold at first.

“A faint flicker, yes. A lot of them have been set behind blocks- mainly of my memory- to try and prevent _this_ from happening again.” the spirit said, making a few vague gestures between them. “But being around you and Sam over the last few days, even if Sam isn't exactly present at the moment, has been starting to tear those walls down.”

“Why do you think that is? Is it because we're jogging your memory, or do Sam and I have some freaky jedi mindfuck talents?” Dean teased. The spirit hardly reacted beyond a confused glance.

“I'm not actually sure. I never have been. But you two always seem to have that effect on me.” She mumbled, looking down. Suddenly, her body went tense again, just the slightest increment. “I've probably told you too much now. We should go to bed. I can hear our parent's heart beats if I focus- and they'll wake soon if we don't keep to ourselves.”

Dean nodded her head. She didn't want to have them wake up and find her down here. It's happened on more than one occasion since Sam's hospitalization, and she knew that this time she would be grounded for sure. With almost nothing else to do, grounding would practically be hell for Dean.

“Yeah, you're probably right.” She mumbled, standing back up. She stretched her arms up, feeling her muscles expand with the motion. Damn, that felt good. Unfortunately, it did little to distract her from the knowledge that as soon as she closed her eyes tonight, flames would be dancing across her skin. But not sleeping wouldn't solve anything and the grumpy mood that would result would only get her in trouble.

Castiel led them upstairs, feet padding quietly against the hardwood floors as she worked her way back to their bedroom. Dean followed behind closely, hoping that if she imitated the spirit that the sounds she made would decrease.

It wasn't long before they were standing in their bedroom, Not-Sam creeping up the ladder to flop herself into bed. Dean felt a little twang of disappointment- she could no longer run from her nightmares. She tightened her jaw and followed Not-Sam's example, crawling under the covers and taking several deep, soothing breaths.

She forced her eyes to close, trying to count sheep. Her thoughts kept trying to wander, but she wouldn't allow it. She knew that if she did, her mind would take her to fear and fire.

It seemed like forever before she finally dozed to sleep.

~~~~~~

Her hands were shaking. She couldn't stop staring at them.

Her mouth was dry, and her legs wobbled as she stood. Glancing at the clock, she saw that it was three o'clock in the morning. She gave a mental grown, huffing a heavy sigh.

A cup of water later, she was crawling back into bed. It was still three and a half hours before she had to get up for school, and she had a test in the morning. Any kind of extra sleep would help her, even if she risked closing her eyes and falling back into the pain.

Half an hour later, she was still awake. She tossed and turned in her blankets, hearing the springs creak as she moved. Nothing seemed to be calming her down enough to sleep. The only thing that had ever done that before was-

“Do you require assistance?” Not-Sam's voice came, a bitter reminder that Sam wasn't there to comfort her.

“How do you plan on helping?” Dean asked, letting annoyance slip into her voice. The spirit seemed unfazed by it, because she continued to speak.

“Sam's memories say that when you had nightmares, she would crawl into bed with you. The nightmares would get better with the establishment of physical contact. I know I would be a poor substitute, but if it would help you sleep, I could-”

“Wait.” Dean said, cutting her off mid-sentence. “You're offering to _cuddle_ with me?”

“If... If you believe it would benefit you, yes.” Not-Sam said, her voice the usual cool, but this time with just a twinge of discomfort.

Dean glanced, frustrated, towards the alarm clock. Her mind flashed back to the last lecture her parents had given her when she failed a test. Even if this wasn't really Sam, would it be so hard to pretend? After the tossing and turning and restlessness, another body asleep beside her would be just what she needed.

“Fine.” She said, scooting over in bed. She heard an awkward shifting as the spirit exited the top bunk, climbing down. She stared at the open space on the bed for a few minutes, hesitating. Once Dean realized that she wasn't going to move again without being invited to, she rolled her eyes and patted the bed beside her. That had, apparently, been enough oil for Mr. Tin Man. Not-Sam awkwardly hefted a foot on the bed and climbed in, making herself comfortable a good foot and a half away from where Dean lay.

Dean still tossed and turned. There was no way she was about to fall asleep with Not-Sam so close, so unnaturally still. Finally, she gave up fighting and threw an arm around her, pulling her close.

“Relax, dude. You're gonna get a muscle cramp or something.” Dean mumbled. Not-Sam's body slowly bled out the stiffness, warmth growing in Dean's chest as she relaxed against her. She took a moment to convince herself that it was because the thing was wearing Sam's body.

“I'm an angel. I don't get muscle cramps.” The thing said, flatly. It reached Dean's ears only as a muffled noise, her head pressed against the pillow already.

She didn't really care. She had a warm body pressed up against her, her arms wrapped around something. Her feelings were knotted into a big ball of confusion in her chest, but that was easy enough to ignore. She felt a wave of relaxation overcome her, and she burrowed further into Not-Sam's warmth, ignoring the little voice in the back of her head telling her that she shouldn't be doing it.

When she fell asleep that night, surrounded by the smell of honey and power, she dreamed of hell again.

But this time, she dreamed of a blinding blue light, barreling through dimensions and space, to grab her and pull her out.

 


	6. Two Friendships Beginning in Two Lives

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyo. Sorry this chapter was so late, I had a lot to do! But the next few chapters should be pretty rapid over break. I mean, once I finish with a small thing I'm gonna be doing for laughs, anyways. So yeah. Enjoy this chapter.  
> And merry Christmas!

~~~~~~~~~~~Approximately 975 BCE~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dean tried to clear her mind for the voyage- the general morale was high, and it by all means should be easy to lose herself in drink and laughter. Her mind just didn't want to stop feeding her stories and pictures of the tall slave starving and cold. Her worry, which by all means was irrational and undeserved of a simple slave, gnawed at her like a dog at a bone.

“Dean, come on! Be festive! You've hardly had enough to be drunk.” Her friend, leaning against her in a drunken fevor, proclaimed. “Come on, if you drink enough, we can get away with fucking against the mast of the ship.”

“I'm not in the mood.” She replied tersely, pushing his arm firmly off of her. He looked upset, seeming to sober up a little bit.

“Are you sure? You're always up for a good romp.” He said, sounding concerned. Dean gave what could be considered a cold stare, heaving a sigh.

“You may be my friend, Asger, but there are some things I can't tell you.”

“Come on, that's not true. You can trust me. You _do_ trust me, don't you, Dean?” He asked, looking disappointed. Dean rolled her eyes. Asger was an emotional drunk, and she wasn't looking forward to the waterworks that may come from telling him otherwise.

“It's getting close to my time of the month.” She said, hoping Asger wouldn't pick up on her blatant lie. In his drunken state, he seemed to buy it, nodding solemnly and tipping back his mug. It ran in rivets down his beard, slopping onto the floor and his clothing. He didn't seem to care.

“You should go and take care of yourself then. We'll miss ya while you're gone, but I don't think anyone will notice. Everyone's up here celebratin' the last raid anyhow.” He hiccuped, glancing down at his empty mug. He squinted at the bottom, wondering how the entire thing had emptied that fast. “Go and just relax. I know how those cramps get ya.”

Dean nodded her head, actually considering doing just that. She could use some extra sleep, and maybe laying down for a bit would help to clear her too-busy mind. She shrugged, rising from the table with a respectful nod towards Asger. “You know, I think I will. Thank you. Don't get too drunk, we don't need you throwing up over the side of the ship. Again.”

Asger laughed at that, and Dean flinched. Yeah, it was probably already too late. She patted his back it two short, sympathetic taps before she turned and went, walking out of there and towards the sleeping quarters. Some rowdy pair was probably already back there and going at it, but she could ignore things like that easy enough.

The cool air of the night felt too good to give up. It was quiet out here, and the stars shone like beacons of hope against the endless black of the night. One in particular seemed just a little brighter blue than the others, twinkling under Dean's gaze. Maybe she didn't need to lay down and relax to clear her mind; maybe she could just stay out here, letting the wind tousle her hair and keeping her gaze upwards.

She closed her eyes for a moment, reveling in the smell of the sea. No matter where life took her, no matter how many villages she had to pillage and people she had to watch burn, the smell of the sea would be her comfort. Her guilt eased away as her nostrils filled with moist air, and she knew that this was where she belonged above all else. Everything felt just a little bit more real, a little more down-to-earth, when she was here.

A creak in the wood broke her trance, and she turned. Nobody was there, nobody had made the sound, and yet, her eyes set upon a wooden door she knew all too well. Acting purely on impulse she crept forward, grabbing the door handle and slowly creaking it open, tip-toeing through the door and stopping just inside.

The reality of what she was doing hit her like cold water.

She was trying to go down to the slaves. She fully intended to go and talk to that tall man, the one whom she hadn't been able to get off of her mind since she saw him. Which, of course, was the exact _opposite_ of what she should do if she wanted to forget about him.

Suddenly, Dean had a very important realization. She really just did not fucking care about it. Who would judge her for going down to talk to a slave? Nobody. Some of the other men went down all the time to taunt them or tell them jokes, or even attempt to learn about their culture.

Dean had a rule about getting attached to people in this life, but just talking to the boy didn't mean she was going to end up best buddies. In fact, what was _most_ likely to happen would be that he ended up entirely uninteresting and she could walk away, no strings attached, wondering what she found so intriguing in the first place. It was absolutely ridiculous to keep herself from doing this.

She walked down the stairs with confidence, her fur boots clomping as she did. She turned heel and headed straight for the room with the active slaves, knowing that he would have been put on night duty. They put all their strongest rowers on during that time, since they left the half-tattered sail open during the day.

The room smelled of sweat and urine, but Dean ignored it, her eyes scanning over the slaves. Finally she picked out the mop of shaggy brown hair and smiled the smallest bit, the corner of her moth twitching as if it wanted to smile wider.

The muscles on his back rippled as he rowed, hands moving repetitively as he worked. Sweat beaded down his spine and over the small of his back. There was nothing in the world that looked more appetizing than that lightly tanned skin, and without thinking, Dean found herself stalking forward to stand beside him.

He looked up when her shadow fell across his hands, revealing a shining black eye. His jaw tightened, as if prepared to fight back should anything happen.

“Where did you get that?” She asked, feeling almost irrationally angry. When he didn't respond she gestured to his eye, repeating her question, more firmly.

“I would've figured your ship mates would be bragging about it. It must be a real honor here to punch a 'mouthy' slave in the eye while he was still chained to his bed. And you know, I don't get why you chain us there. If we wanted to kill ourselves, we wouldn't _have_ to sneak upstairs and jump off the boat. You just have to make somebody angry enough.” He spat, venom coming through his words. Dean's eyebrows rose and he flinched just a little, as if expecting a punch.

“You have more fight than the rest. It probably pissed them off. Looks like it hurt.” She said, hating the small note of gentleness that came through her voice. Of course, he seemed just as confused by it as she was.

“Yeah, it did. Then the bastard started bragging about it, like it was a fair fight. I would've kicked him into next week if I wasn't chained up.” He said, half of his words coming out as heaving grunts as he continued to lift the thick wood, dragging it through the ocean.

“I bet you would've. Where did these muscles come from, anyways? I would assume you had been a warrior, but the village we got you from seldom went into battle and had no training stations. They were clearly unprepared for any kind of a fight.” Dean speculated out loud, brows coming together.

The slave paused, his pace stuttering as he looked at Dean, incredulous. “What's it to you?”

Suddenly, Dean was angry. She was just trying to make small talk, and if this slave didn't fucking feel like it, then what was it to her? “Okay then, whatever. You don't want to talk, that's fine. Have fun rowing alone, buddy.”

She turned to walk away, but only made it a few steps before a small sound stopped her. She spun back, head tilting in confusion. “I'm sorry, what was that?”

“Wood chopping. My dad and I were lumber haulers. We'd chop down trees and take them back to the village to burn as firewood. Actually, we were one of the only ones that did it, because we worked fast enough to supply almost everyone.” The Slave said, speaking a little louder. Dean nodded her head appreciatively; lumber was a fine business to be in, and she felt a small streak of guilt for taking him away from it. Of course, it wasn't her personally who chose him, but...

“That sounds like fulfilling work. My uncle was a wood hauler. My father a warrior, like myself.” She said, nodding her head in respect. She still wasn't quite sure why she wanted to know him, but this trip so far had the exact _opposite_ effect that she was hoping for. She was not only just as intrigued as she had been before, but if anything, she had made it even worse.

“Well, it's really work that can be done anywhere. Every civilization my city had heard of has used wood for something. 'Ever since man discovered fire, there has been need for wood', as my dad used to say.” He said, never taking a break from his work.

“I can see that. Your father sounds like a wise man.” Dean said, nodding her head.

“Oh, he was. Of course, I'm not certain whether or not he's still alive after what your people did to our village. In fact, I don't know if my fiance is still alive, or even my dog. I have been stripped of my job, stripped of my possessions, stripped of the people I love, and yet, here I am. Here I am, talking to one of you like we're old friends.” He spat, bitterly. This time, Dean failed to get mad. Actually, she could see where he was coming from.

“Sorry about that.” She said, before she could stop herself. He reared back in surprise, pace stuttering for the second time as he looked at her with wide eyes. Since she couldn't just stop there, she kept speaking. “I may be a warrior, but that doesn't mean I approve of the practices. I'm a warrior because it's tradition in my family for the firstborn of every man to be. I was the firstborn. So was my father, and his father before him. I didn't choose this.”

“But you still go along with it. Why?” He asked, seeming just a little more open now. He was still reserved, but it looked almost like he _understood_ , knew about being trapped in tradition. Maybe he did.

“Because it's what my dad wants.” She admitted. Then, to change the topic, “What's your name?”

“Sam.” He said, after a moment of hesitation. “Don't tell anyone. There are some things I don't want someone abusing me to know.”

“I can understand that. I'm Dean.” She introduced.

For the first time since they had spoken, Dean thought she saw a little bit of a smile on those chapped lips.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~Present Day~~~~~~~~~~~

The wallpaper was plaid. Out of all the things in the room, that was what struck Sam as the weirdest. She almost thought that it looked like _her;_ the stuff all seemed like it fit her, the only movies in the cupboard were ones she had seen before, (even if she couldn't quite remember when or where) and there was a library off to the side with a large lock over it.

She wasn't quite sure about the library part, but she figured that it was probably just all the stuff she had learned in school and stories she had read. She wasn't sure why it was locked.

Normally, someone would be freaking out right now. She had woken up in a strange place that she barely knew, with lots of things oddly specific to her tastes and no visible way in or out. If she had any kind of sense left in her whatsoever, she would be losing her mind with worry. But all she felt was this strange, peaceful calm, like she knew everything was going to be okay.

She never felt tired, never felt hungry. She could eat or sleep if she wanted to. She never felt dirty or smelled bad, and had yet to actually take a shower as of now. She just... didn't feel like doing anything. The feeling of this place was too peaceful, warm, and calming. She chose to sleep a lot not because she had to, but because it felt _right._

Of course, all time in this place seemed irrelevant. It could have been a hundred years or two hours for all Sam knew. She couldn't much find it in her to care for getting out, if it wasn't for Dean.

_Dean._ Now, that was a name that caused some stirring. Her stomach flipped uncomfortably and she frowned at the floor, heaving a sigh. She wanted to be back with her sister. Her darling, beautiful older sister. She had to make sure that Dean was okay. If she wasn't there, who was to keep Dean from having dreams of fire and brimstone? How would Dean sleep?

Through her unrest, she heard a fluttering. The sound was not unlike that of the ducks she had seen flapping at the lake in their backyard, the ones that came every summer and tried to nip at Dean's ass when she chased the smaller ones. Sam had to force herself not to laugh when that happened.

“Sam?” A voice said, tentatively. Sam sat up slowly, eyes narrowing as they shifted towards the entity.

It looked like her. Down to the colour of eyes and the clothes that she wore, she looked like her. Suddenly, all of it came back to Sam. Why she was here, what had happened, why she had been so damn  _tired..._

“You.” She said, simply. It sounded more like a statement than an accusation. “What are you doing? Why am I not back in my own body?” And then, in a little softer a voice, “How's Dean?”

“I understand you have questions. Many of them I have no answers for, however, I can tell you some. For example, this,” She gestured around at the walls, “Is _your_ mind. Well, more accurately it's your mind's perception of your human soul. You can manipulate anything in it now. For example, I only look the way I do because that's how you're projecting me. If you need anything in here, you can think it up.”

“Then why can't I open the library?” Sam asked, immediately. The girl paused, narrowing her eyes.

“Because that contains things you don't want to see about yourself. I'm sorry, but there's no more of that question I can answer.” She said, sighing. Sam nodded her head slowly.

“Okay. Why am I here?”

“You were sick.” She answered, simply. “I can't heal you for reasons I cannot disclose. I couldn't let you back in your own body because more than that is unwell. Have you not-?”

“Have I not what?” Sam asked, weary. She knew that she may not enjoy the answer to this, but that strange kind of calm was settling over her again.

“I figured. Sam, lift your shift.” She commanded. Sam hesitated only a moment before she did as she would ask, fingers skimming along the hem for a moment before all at once lifting it a foot, exposing the skin of her stomach to the cool air. Her mouth dropped open. “You see, you thought that your sickness was only physical. I'm afraid that was not the case.”

There was a gaping hole in her stomach, a few smaller ones scattered away from it. It was about as large around as a coffee pot, and she could see the mattress through it. Emotion like she hadn't felt since she'd been in this place started to bubble up, but she forced herself to remain calm. She reminded herself that this wasn't  _really_ her. This was only her self-projection.

“What does this mean?” She demanded, gesturing towards the empty space. The girl sighed, looking away.

“It means that your soul was damaged. The sickness was one of the supernatural variety, and it targeted mainly the soul. That's why they couldn't figure out what was wrong with you at the hospital. They were looking in entirely the wrong place.”

“What does this mean?” She questioned, brow furrowing. She didn't want to be stuck here forever, she wanted to be out there, with _Dean._

“It means that your sickness was spiritual. Your spirit was rapidly deteriorating. I- There's not much I can do for that.” the being said, sounding just a little bit sad about it.

“Does.... Does that mean I can't go out and see Dean?” She asked, stomach sinking.

“I'm afraid not until you heal. I've tried my best to give you what I would consider adequate healing conditions, but healing a soul itself I something that I cannot do with current circumstances.” She mumbled. Sam frowned, feeling loneliness start to creep up.

“Oh. Well, thank you.” She said. There was a long pause, and suddenly, she was afraid that this being would _leave,_ leave her alone with this new found emptiness and thoughts swirling around in her head, for however long it would take to heal. She needed to think of something to make her stay, even if only for a little longer. “What's your name, anyways?”

The spirit looked startled for a moment, but quickly recovered. If Sam wasn't mistaken, there was a ghost of a smile on her face. “You know, your sister asked me the same thing. I suppose there's no harm in giving you the same answer. I can't tell you my whole name right now, but you can call me Cas. If you would like to call me anything, of course.”

“Cas.” Sam repeated, smiling back at her. Suddenly, her attention was diverted. So Dean _did_ know what was going on. “How is Dean handling this?”

“Well, she's not all too keen-” Suddenly, Cas paused, her eyebrows drawing together. “I'm sorry.” She said, sounding vaguely distracted. Her eyes dropped to the floor. “I have to go now. Your sister is waking up.”

“How do you know that?” Sam asked, desperately trying to prolong their time together.

“I'm still in touch with your body and she's beginning to stir. It's jostling me.”

“You're sleeping in the bed with Dean?” Sam asked, eyes widening. “And she knows it's not me?”

Cas blushed, blinking. “Yes. Is that- That's not a problem, is it?”

“Of course not.” Sam said, immediately. She was glad that Dean could have someone who would be able to keep her company while she was gone. “I'm really happy she's okay with all of this. Can you tell her I miss her?”

“I'll be sure to pass on the message.” Cas said, turning. Sam could tell that she was going to be gone soon, and another lonely wave of desperation washed over her.

“WAIT!” She cried. Cas turned, tilting her head. “Will you come back? Tomorrow night?”

She softened a little bit, thawing out. “I suppose I could do that, yes. But I need to go now.”

“Thank you.” Sam said. There, again, the smallest of smiles.

“I'll see you tomorrow, Sam.”

In between blinks, Sam was suddenly alone again. But knowing that she had someone coming back made it seem like it wasn't so bad after all.

Maybe she could even be _friends_ with this Cas.

 


	7. The Next Morning and Third Life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the update taking so long. It took me several days of actually sitting down and forcing myself to write for this to happen. I don't have a lot of motivation for this story thanks to it's lack of following, but it's still close to my heart. Enjoy the chapter!

~~~~~~~~~Present Day~~~~~~~~~~

When Dean woke up, Cas was laying beside her, rigid and eyes closed tightly. She shook off the grogginess, eyebrows furrowing in confusion. She would have thought that Cas would have woken with her.

“Cas, get up.” She mumbled, still feeling tired. “It's Friday today, we have to get to school. If we miss a day this early in the school year, mom will kill us.”

Cas stayed still, unmoving. Dean got an uneasy feeling in the first few moments, memories flashing behind her eyes- Cas, impaled on a silver blade, a redheaded she-devil standing just a few feet away. When Dean came back to, she was shaking and upset. Louder, she said, “Cas.”

Cas stayed still, so Dean started shaking her arm. Of course, Dean was who was doing the most shaking in this situation.

What if Cas just didn't wake up? What would they do then? Sammy would surely end up back in the hospital, their parents would be devastated, if Cas was gone and what made Sammy _Sammy_ was somewhere else, how would she ever get back to her body? Would Dean ever see Cas again? And, more pressing to her, would she ever see _Sam_ again?

Cas's eyes slowly opened, going almost entirely blue for a split second before it bled back into a muddy brown. “Yes, Dean?”

Dean breathed out a huff of air, relieved. She threw her body haphazardly over Cas, arms running around Cas's neck and pulling her closer. “Don't ever do that again.”

Cas softened a bit as Dean slowly let her mind filter through a memory; seemingly picking up where the other had left off. One where she had said the exact same words to Cas, in a much more perilous situation. Cas was _human_ then, fragile and weak. Dean thought that she just might die if she still were.

“I apologize.” Cas said, after a pause. “I had to go and talk to your sister. She needed to know what was going on. She wanted me to tell you that she misses you.”

Dean pulled back, eyes going wide. “You talked to Sammy? How is she? Is she doing okay?” She asked, practically frenzied. Castiel pulled back a little, giving Dean some space to have her small freak out.

“She's doing fine, Dean. She's taking longer than I would have expected to heal, but she'll make do.” Castiel said, slowly, so that Dean could process it.

“Okay, okay.” Dean said, trying to repress her curiosity. Castiel wouldn't give her much information, even if she begged for it. “Are you going to talk to her again? Can you tell her I said I miss her, too?”

“Yes, I'm going to talk with her again. Tonight, after we go to sleep.” Castiel mumbled, brows scrunching up. Dean had learned already that this was a signature expression of Cas's. She thought it was kind of cute, actually.

“Good.” Dean said, letting her body collapse back onto the bed. Cas stayed still, looking towards the ceiling as if it would hold all of life's answers.

“Are you going to rise now? You need to get ready for school.”

Dean mumbled something, turning over and snuggling up to Cas, her body warm and inviting. Of course, the only part of her still on the bed was her legs, but Dean wasn't complaining. This had been the first sleep in much, _much_ too long that was peaceful and relaxed; she wasn't about to leave it so willingly. “Maybe I'll just skip school today.”

“I-I actually may be able to help with that situation, if you would like some more sleep.” Cas said, tentatively. Dean's interest peaked, and she turned over again to look at the spirit.

“What do you mean by that? In case you haven't noticed, I can't sleep without you here. Sam would _kill_ me if she knew I made her miss perfect attendance just because I was tired.” Dean reminded Cas, eyebrow raised. She really was hoping that there was a solution, though. She was tired, emotionally and physically. All she wanted to do right now is sleep for a thousand more years, hoping that her dreams would comfort her.

“I mean, I can fly to the classroom and be back in a couple of seconds. I could make the teacher mark us as there. Any work we miss I can have her mark as complete. Unless you would rather go in.” Cas said.

“Whoa, are you serious?” Dean asked, her voice filled with awe. “Dude, that is _so_ awesome. You have to do it.”

“Okay. I'll be back in a second.” Cas said. Dean blinked and then, suddenly, Cas was gone. The blankets where she had been sitting before slowly drifted back down into place, laying over the bedsheets. Dean had a second to be disoriented before she lifted the blankets again, confused.

“Cas?” She asked, looking around the room. She couldn't just... _disappear_ like that, could she?

No sooner had she stood to start looking than Cas appeared, merely inches away from her. Dean pulled back, her legs hitting the bunk bed and buckling underneath her, causing her to land right on her ass. She shook her head, breath coming out rapidly. “What the fucking hell?”

“Dean, I told you I would be back. Are you okay? Did you hurt yourself?” Cas questioned, concern coming through her voice. Dean shook her head back and forth to clear it.

“Yeah, I'm okay.” She said, blinking hard. She took a long, steady breath before letting it out slowly, forcing herself to calm. “I'm just fine, Cas. Just a little bit scared, that's all. Warn a buddy next time, okay?”

“Okay.” Cas replied, incredulously. Dean shook her head, laying back down in the bed. The breath left her body in a short bolt as she grabbed the covers and threw them over herself, snuggling into the soft warmth. After a long pause, she looked back up to the spirit.

“Aren't you going to get in?” She asked. Cas seemed to unthaw, fluidly moving into the bed beside Dean. After a few minutes of fighting with herself, Dean gave up and scooted closer yet again, throwing an arm over the spirit and pulling her closer. “Night, Cas.”

“Goodnight, Dean.” Cas responded, her voice a small comfort.

It wasn't long before Dean was dragged back down into the dream world, peaceful and quaint.

~~~~~~~~~London, England. Year 1684 AD~~~~~~~~

The rain pelted down relentlessly, soaking her hair and making it cling to her skin. Dean ran along the cobblestone streets, hoping to get home before the wind picked up with it. After all, her mother was waiting to give her her next lesson.

Dean was learning to become a witch. She was learning to cast spells and make potions, to brew herbs and help people with them. Dean wouldn't even consider most of what they were doing _magick,_ more like... using natural talents for the sake of the common good. Sure, sometimes she made fire with her hands or turned herself into a dog, but hey, that just came with the business.

She finally made it back to their small wooden hovel, eyes scanning the cracked and broken ceiling warily. Her mom had tried to get someone out there to fix it several times, but they always seemed too busy with other things. Her mom told her once that it was because they helped people. Dean could see the fear in their eyes, how some of them clutched their bibles just a little closer when they walked by. They just... didn't understand.

She pushed open the door, hearing the steady drip of her wet clothes on the floor as she walked forward, setting the basket of herbs heavily onto the table. “Of course, you send _me_ out in the rain to get the herbs, on my _birthday_ ,” she mumbled, mostly teasing.

“I think you'll find it to be quite worth the trouble today.” Her mom said, beaming at her. She grabbed Dean's sleeve, ignoring the cool feeling of water against her skin, and pulled her into the living room. “I had to let you go and do that while Kali gave birth to her kittens. I can feel it, Dean, one of them is yours.”

Dean's eyes widened. Her mother's familiar had turned up pregnant months ago, (a big relief to her mother, who had feared the worst) and then her mother said it was a sign. She said that one of the kittens just might be Dean's familiar, just might be _hers_.

“You really think so?” Dean asked. Her mother chuckled, gesturing towards the kittens. Four of them slept soundly in a basket, curled up to their mother. They were small and precious, tiny, half-asleep mewls coming occasionally.

“I was thirteen when I found my familiar. You've followed in my footsteps with everything else. I don't see why you wouldn't with this.” Her mother said, leaning down with Dean to inspect the kittens closer. “Be careful with them, Dean. You shouldn't touch them until they're two weeks old.”

Dean looked at them, her heart pounding in her chest. She could _feel_ it. Just waiting to be unlocked, her magickal potential. One of the kittens was hers, and-

Suddenly, one moved. One lifted up it's head and sniffed the air, intrigued. It's fur was a soft brown and it's nose was a bright pink, the only one of the cats with a coat of all one color. Dean felt something tugging at her, something deep and binding. This was the one that was hers. That, right there, was her familiar.

“Do you feel something, Dean?” Her mother asked. Dean didn't have to look to hear the smile in her voice.

“Yeah, I do. That one's mine.” She said, pointing towards it. The kitten lay it's head back down, as if pleased with the response. Dean smiled. Oh yeah, this was hers.

“Do you know what you want to call them?” Her mother asked. “You can wait to give them a name, if you'd like. Then you could give it something after we know the sex.”

“No, I know what I'm gonna call it.” Dean said, smiling. The name popped into her head seemingly out of nowhere, as if it were whispered in her ear by the wind. “That's my Sammy.”

~~~

Dean worked all week the next week, brewing potions and preparing herself. The concoction that would allow her familiar to change back and forth between a human and an animal was one of the most difficult to make, but she knew that it would be worth the practice when she got it right.

She made love potions, (sold to a schoolgirl, who's hands had shaken as she handed Dean the money in return) and potions to cure the chicken pox, (in high demand this time of year) anything that could make a profit and anything that could help to train her for making the biggest one yet.

She practiced funneling her magick through things by growing small flowers in their backyard. Their yard might not have been big enough for an herb garden, but she could certainly get away with a couple of daisies. After all, she'd need to practice with that, too. Familiars helped a witch by carrying their spells places they needed to be and used their own magick to increase their witches. It was a never-ending cycle of giving, and in return, they gained protection from their witch.

That was another thing that Dean practiced. She made hex bags and protective force fields, draining her magick so much that she almost got sick. Her mother forced her to take a day off when she started coughing, and wouldn't even let Dean make her own soup.

“What are you going to do if the day to make the potion comes and you're all drained? You need to rest today, and you need to cool down. The kitten won't even be ready to ingest the potion until it's twelve weeks old. You have plenty of time to practice until then.” She reminded her, handing her a bowl of chicken broth.

Dean pouted, but she did as she was told. She calmed down a little bit, making sure to give her magick time to recover in between spells and potions. She slowly learned ways to replenish it faster, slowly felt like she was gaining more control.

The kittens opened their eyes for the first time, and Dean was able to hold Sam's tiny body in her hands. Sam looked up at her with a look that could only be described as affection, and it absolutely made Dean's week.

Slowly as they grew, Dean grew, too. Her magick grew, her hope grew, and her love for her small kitten grew. They began to play with the things around the house, batting at dust bunnies and even catching a few of the mice that their mother had missed. (Kali had started to shift again, and was able to play with her kittens as a human, too. Sometimes, Dean thought that the kittens looked at her and her mom like they were expecting them to turn into cats at any moment).

Dean, when Sam had turned eight weeks old, picked up the sleeping kitten and carried it back to her bed. She half expected it to jump up and run straight out of the room, but that was far from what really happened. Sammy simply curled up on her chest, purring contentedly as Dean stroked through her fur. She had never quite felt affection as strong as this.

Her powers acted of their own accord, reacting to how close her familiar was. She funneled her magick into the kitten's body, synching their souls to the same tune. She was surprised to find out that there wasn't actually much to do; they were already mostly in tune, humming with energy at being so close together.

If Dean had experienced any of her past lives, like her mother had tried to teach her, she was certain that she would have been friends with Sammy at another time, another place. She was positively sure that they were meant to be together, since the dawn of time, their souls had clicked in a way that Dean hadn't felt with anyone before in this lifetime.

A strong sense of protectiveness washed over her as she held the cat close, listening to the purring. It's eyes were shut tight, but they slowly opened to stare deeply into Dean's.

_I love you_ , she thought at it, hoping that it would get the message. It responded by leaning forward to press a short, loving lick to the bridge of her nose.

Even if Sammy couldn't really respond yet, she had gotten the message.

Dean fell asleep that night to the lovely sound of a cat purring rhythmically against her chest.

~~~

She stirred in the basil leaves, hands shaking in an effort to stay calm. She'd spent the last four hours of her life trying to get this right, and she wasn't about to let self-doubt and cold feet stop her now.

The entire time the steam wafted up from the cauldron, her tiny kitten had stayed by her side, watching with head tilted as Dean added more ingredients. Today was the day the cat turned 12 weeks old, and she would finally be able to shift. That is, as long as Dean got the potion right.

Kali stood beside her, lips pursed. “You're mixing all of these very well. I'm honored that such a young, talented witch would take my kitten as a familiar. I hope you both will grow from being together.” She put in. Dean nodded her head absently, focused on not botching the spell.

Sure, it had taken her mother three times to get it right, but Dean had never been a stickler for tradition. She was more than willing to break this one in particular, especially if it meant getting to find out what Sammy looked like soon.

She was so excited for today. She was excited to formally make the familiar bond, which could only be done with the consent of both parties. Once Sam could speak and Dean heard the words herself, they would officially be linked at the soul.

Of course, Dean was fairly certain that they were  _already_ linked somehow, and this would just be dusting off the bond from another lifetime. She was fully prepared for today, and for everything it would mean to her.

Finally, after working hours, sweat dripping off of her chin from the heat and work of stirring, she poured it into a cat bowl. Sammy's head rose from where she had been sleeping, seeming to sense that this had something to do with her. Dean slowly poured the thick, spicy-smelling liquid out of the cauldron and into a small bowl, which had already been pre-prepared with some beef.

She took a fork and mixed it up together, making the smell a little less appalling. Once she was satisfied, she turned around with a smile and set it on the table, hands still giving small tremors of excitement and worry.

Sam slowly moved forward, paws padding softly against the wood as she crept towards the bowl, nose out in the air as she curiously followed the scent. After what seemed like an eternity, (Dean, her mother, and Kali were all holding their breath) it's paws moved just over the edge of the bowl, and Sammy took a long sniff. They looked up at Dean in confusion for a moment before bending back down to take a tentative lick, wrinkling it's nose but still beginning to eat the food.

It was a matter of minutes before all of it was gone, and the three others were waiting with baited breath. After a moment of nothing happening, Dean heaved a sigh of frustration and turned away, her mother and Kali coming with her.

“Don't worry honey, we'll try again tomorrow.”

“It's fine, there were worse things that could have happened than the potion just not working at all.” Kali soothed, running a hand through Dean's messy hair.

“Guys?” Came a voice.

“What?” All three of them answered. They shared a look of confusion before coming to the realization that none of them had said anything.

Dean spun around, her heart leaping into her throat.

There, perched on the table, was an entirely naked, beautiful girl. Dean didn't hesitate to throw her arms around her familiar's neck, burying her face in long, brown hair. And god, it was soft. Almost as soft as kitten fur itself.

“God, Sammy, you scared me.” She said, almost getting choked up. She pulled away and Sammy flashed a sheepish grin at her, brown eyes sparkling with humor.

“Sorry about that.” She mumbled. They stared at each other for a minute, before Sam reached down and grabbed Dean's hands, looking into her eyes.

“Dean, I want to be your familiar.” She said, out loud. Dean felt an odd, almost familiar tugging sensation in her chest. A warm beam connected their chests, just below the ribcage, the color of pure and unadulturated sunlight. Dean beamed at her familiar through it, happier than she had ever been before. After all, she felt like a piece of her that had been missing was suddenly put back again.

“Okay, okay. Now it's time to get you some clothes.” Kali said, sounding a little bit irritated. Dean laughed, shaking her head at Kali's overprotective tone.

“She can borrow some of mine.”

 


	8. Voyaging, Three Months Across

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The vikings literally always get the best reaction so have a chapter that's entirely vikings because I love you all. I would really enjoy some more reviews on this story though, if you could manage~   
> Thank you all so much for reading so far! The story is more than 1/4th of the way done now.

~~~~~~~~~Approximately 975 AD~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next night, Dean didn't even try to hide it. She snuck downstairs while everyone else was drinking, her feet clomping against the wood rhythmically as she walked down the stairs.

The other slaves eyes her warily as she walked straight towards Sam, striding confidently. She had just been down here yesterday, and surely her interest wasn't what it was being made out to be? Surely, this was morbid curiosity. She couldn't actually by _sympathizing_ with a slave, now, could she?

Dean had already accepted that this was the case. The others, while she did have a shred of pity for that she spared, held not even a candle to Sam Winchester. The thought of him working for twelve hours straight while she was jesting with her friends made her bitter. In fact, she'd already found the pieces of shit that gave him the bruise earlier that day and gave them a taste of their own damn medicine.

They now had two black eyes.

“Hey there stranger,” Dean teased, coming to rest a couple of inches away from Sam. “You having a fun time with that?”

“Oh, this is the life, trust me. In fact, why don't you try for yourself?” He spat back. Dean let out a hearty laugh, smiling broadly. She hated the feeling of knowing what his muscles were going through, but she could appreciate that he kept his sense of humor.

“Actually, I have. It was part of training to help us build up our muscle for the battlefield. I had to withstand rowing duty for a month.” Dean said, the not-so-pleasant memory making her stomach churn. Her first day on rowing duty, she had been so exhausted that she actually, physically threw up. She was impressed that more of the slaves didn't do the same.

“Really?” Sam asked, looking at her incredulously. Dean nodded her head, a smile appearing.

“It was my least favorite exercise. It's one of the reasons I'm actually against us keeping slaves at all down here. You're all good people and don't deserve this. You should be paid for your work, and have the ability to go free at the end of it.” Dean said, speaking in soft tones. She didn't need the slavemaster to overhear her. Sam looked at her with wide eyes, eyebrows raised as though he didn't believe it. “What?”

“You can't expect me to just magically trust you. If the gods themselves came down from the heavens to tell me that you were the only good soul on this boat, I would still have my doubts. I'm sure you can see why.” Sam said.

“Of course I can. You've had your rights stolen.” Dean said, feeling a familiar guilt start to rise up, threatening to choke her from the inside out. She had to get her mind off of this, to forget what she had come to think of as being her fault. If she didn't, she would surely shrivel and crack under the weight of her own self-loathing. There was nothing she could do without going against everything she had ever known. Some twisted sense of loyalty to her family and tradition kept her silent.

“Yeah. Though the worst thing that's been stolen from me right now is the ability to get a drink of water when I want to.” Sam joked, starting to lighten up a bit more. Dean, because there was nothing else she could do, laughed. She smiled toothily at Sam, and held up a finger.

“I can go fix that.” She said, walking over to the barrel of water. The slavemaster eyed her warily as she dumped out a small bit of water, into an animal skin she had had hanging around her waist. She waved him off, smiling and flashing her eyes in a poor attempt at charm. He seemed to be taken with it, as he bowed a little and a rush of blood came to his cheeks. Dean fought the urge to roll her eyes.

When she got back to Sam, he eyed the water warily. After a few moments of his movements never slowing down, she realized that he couldn't grab it for himself. To help the guilt and pity of her own conscience, she decided to forgo manners and held the water up to his lips, making eye contact as she tilted it back to insure that she could tell if he started to choke.

That, of course, wasn't an issue. He drank down the entire skin in long, greedy gulps, eyes closing at the bliss of cool liquid on his palate. He nodded his thanks afterwards, seemingly more grateful now for Dean's company. She nodded her head and smiled a bit, choosing not to comment.

“So, what was your favorite thing back in your hometown?” Dean asked, leaning back a bit. She hoped that Sam would take the bait, and rise to conversation. The other looked at her warily, as if he wasn't sure quite whether or not he was going to return to the ease of conversation they had had last night. The water seemed to have loosened him up, though, and he relented much faster than he had.

“Well, I had a fiance.” He admitted.

Dean was all ears.

~~~

Over the course of the next few months, they talked more and more. They soon came to know each other with a familiar kind of ease, and Sam lost the trouble he once had with trying to breathe and talk and row all at the same time. He took longer gulps of air when he wanted to speak, and his body had adjusted to that. Dean had carved out the perfect two-hour time slot in her schedule to talk to him and bring him water each night.

It became clear that they were two peas in a pod. Dean felt like she had known Sam forever, like this was all just their glorious return back from a lifetime of separation.

She began to brainstorm ways to have him free.

He was more than just a friend to her, and she thought that he must know that. She wanted to run away from all of this, but she didn't think that was a viable possibility. She lay down in her bed and, as she looked at the ceiling and spotted patterns in the wood, thought about what it would be like to be able to touch and hug him, free of the iron clamped around his ankles. Free of the fact that he technically _had_ to be there. Just, free.

Finally, she came to the conclusion that there was, in fact, one way they may be together. It was a long shot, but she was the captain's favorite and had earned her right to favoritism through hard work and many long nights, doing what needed to be done even if nobody else would.

As soon as she had, she made the promise to herself that she would talk with him about it as soon as possible. As soon as she could find a moment with him alone, she would bring it up. He would, of course, have to be ready for it.

As she reached out, to slowly stroke the pattern of the wood, just inches above her head in her top bunk, she thought about what it would feel like to kiss him.

~~~

Two months until they would reach Greenland, she snuck into the slave's quarters. It was small and cramped and reeked of sweat and tears and exhaustion, but she knew that she hardly had right to complain. If she were in the same position, she wouldn't care about keeping herself clean, either.

Sam's bed wasn't hard to locate. He'd chosen a lower bunk, and was turned over. His body glistened in the dim light as she weaved her way through the room, ignoring the sideways glances and whispers she knew were in her honor. She wasn't there to entertain those that enjoyed to gossip; she was there to help Sam.

She gently prodded his shoulder with her hand, rousing him from his slumber. He mumbled a few times and squirmed before turning over and slowly opening his eyes.

Confusion crossed his features and he sat up sharply, drawing in a breath. “What are you doing here?”

“I have a way that we can free you of your shackles. It's a long shot, but I think that with your strength and wit, the captain just might consider it.” She said, excitedly. Hope lit up in Sam's eyes, but a weary ghost flickered across his expression.

“I'm listening.” He mumbled, rubbing his eyes.

“Well, the captain has taken slaves before and let them come above deck to do regular jobs. They've cleaned and swept and learned to get along with the men. At the end of the voyage, one of them had made a particular impression on both him and the crew. He was strong and brave and true, like I believe you to be.” She whispered, barely able to see his reaction in the general darkness. “At the end of the voyage, he offered him to stay on the ship and go back to our village with the rest of us. He would learn the ways of our warriors and he would fight alongside our men. I believe you would be offered the same, if I could talk to him.”

There was a long pause, and Dean was certain that he could feel in the air how excited she was about this revelation. The pause lasted almost too long for her tastes.

“No.” He said, simply. She felt her stomach drop to her feet.

“What the hell do you mean, no?” She demanded, her voice rising just the tiniest bit. Some other slaves turned to look at her, as if suddenly curious as to what she was saying. “I'm offering you a way out of this and you're _refusing_? What, do you _like_ rowing all day?”

“I'm sorry Dean, but I can't do that to these people. I just-- I can't.” Sam said, sounding lost.

“And why the hell not? We did it to you. How the hell is that any different?” She demanded, anger and the sting of rejection starting to make it's way into her chest. She couldn't help that she felt that way. She'd just offered him his freedom, and he _declined._

“It's different. I've seen what this life is. Four people have died on my shift alone. I can't be a part of you if being a part of you means that all these people would be under me. You might be able to, but some of us have _morals_.” He said, starting to feel the bubbling of anger himself. Dean recoiled as if she had been slapped.

How _dare_ he? She had her fucking morals, alright. She had enough _morals_ to know that loyalty to her people and to her father was all she was allowed to worry about. Sam _knew_ that, and he still chose to use it against her. What did he expect her to do, turn against everything that she knew to appease the little voice screaming at her inside of her head? She had _already explained to him that that wasn't possible_.

She would never be able to live with all of her shame.

“Fine. Whatever.” She spat, standing up. She straightened her back and made herself look taller, gritting her teeth against the anger and sadness going through her. She felt a pricking sensation behind her eyes, and she knew that she was soon to start crying. “Rot here, then. It's your decision.”

She stormed out, determined to forget all about the boy who was, in her honest opinion, probably too good to love her anyways.

~~~

A week passed without them talking.

It was the most miserable time in Dean's life.

She could barely force herself to get up in the mornings, could hardly walk to breakfast. When she did, she didn't want to talk to anyone. At night, around the time when everyone else was drinking and she was usually visiting Sam, she would stare up at the ceiling in her cabin and sigh, wondering if anything could _really_ be worse than this.

She would turn restlessly as her thoughts made an endless circle of stories he had told her. The time he had fallen into a freezing lake before he knew how to swim and his friend had saved him, when the same friend had later fallen down a mountainside and broken his arm and Sam had carried him back to the village. The old woman who used to tell stories by their fireside; she wasn't related to them, but had nowhere else to go and made an amazing addition to their small family. He told her of a spot just over the hills where, in the spring, everything was green and looking out made you feel _alive_. She missed him talking of his home more than she missed her own, and that was bothering her.

There was something about being around Sam that made her love him. She wasn't sure how it had happened or when or even if it had a specific time, but here she was, and she had never loved anything more. Over that week, she began to hate her job and everything it stood for, even more than she previously had.

She felt _cold_ on the inside. Cold and lonely. She felt like not talking to Sam, not making sure he was taken care of, was the worst injustice she had ever done to herself. She felt like she had torn a part of her very soul away and cast it into the fire, was now watching it turn to ashes knowing that she still had time to save it but fearing the burn if she did.

She took a long time to think about whether or not that burn would be worth it.

Could she foresake her father? Could she do something dangerous and free Sam from this hold without fearing the pain there would be in her own heart? More importantly, how much did her father mean to her? She had been raised as a machine, blindly killing and fulfilling a family legacy that shouldn't have been on her shoulders. She loved him, but it was a devotion more bitter than a poisonous berry. Could she disregard that for the chance at happiness with the man she loved?

After long debating with herself, she decided that the answer was yes.

~~~

When she finally cracked, it was the happiest day of her life.

She went down to the slave hold excitedly, not even taking a second to adjust to the filth and stench of the place. She plowed through right down to where Sam was, telling herself over and over again that he would be happy to see her. Telling herself over and over again that she hadn't completely blown it.

She could understand it if he would never want to talk to her again. The words she had allowed herself to spill from her mouth like daggers aimed to wound were not something she was proud of.

She walked into the room swiftly and her eyes fell on him, working and sweating up a storm. She immediately walked to the water barrel and got a skin full, carrying it back over to him.

At the first tentative touch to his shoulder, he jumped. He looked tired, dark rings around his eyes like he hadn't slept in years. The surprise slowly morphed into a mix of angry confusion, and he looked sharply away, jaw flexing as he worked just a little faster than before.

She pressed the skin to his lips anyways, and watched as his resolve crumbled and he drank thirstily.

When he had drained the skin, there was a pause. He refused to meet her eyes, and silence reigned in the space between them. Dean had a brief moment where she doubted her decision; or, more accurately, doubted whether or not she would be forgiven for her lack of grace and sympathy.

“So, what are you here for?” Sam asked, his voice finally cutting through the silence. Dean almost sighed in relief, and silently thanked the gods that Sam was the way he was.

“I'd like to apologize. For what I said in your quarters. I didn't mean to be like that and sometimes I just don't think about shit before I say it. I know this is a crappy apology and I'm bad with words and it's already too fucking late to really fix any of it, but I wanted you to know that. I'm really, really fucking sorry and I hope that we can still be friends. Would you be okay with that?” She asked, crossing her fingers behind her back.

“You're a fucking idiot.” Sam said, after a moment. “But I accept your apology.”

“Good, because you'll like what I'm about to say next.” Dean said. Sam's head tilted in interest, though his eyes still stayed glued forward. Dean expected as much, for a little while. It took Sam ages to trust her, and she'd shattered that. It would take a few days at least before they would feel comfortable around each other again, even with the easy way Sam forgave.

“Go on.” He encouraged, still rowing.

Dean began to explain her plan, in length and in detail. She kept her voice down the entire time, hoping that none would overhear their conversation. This needed to be secret if it were to work as she hoped. The entire time she was talking, she kept her eyes on Sam's face to try and gauge his reaction, and most of what she found was pleasing. He seemed to like the idea, much better than he had the previous one. When she was finally done talking and finished with a whoosh of breath, a large smile came over Sam's face.

“You would do that? For me?” He asked, eyes shining with sincerity and happiness.

“This last week without you has really taught me where my priorities lie.” She said smoothly, nodding her head. She was firm in her decision; she would not doubt herself here. She loved Sam more than she had ever loved anyone before, and that wasn't going to end. She wasn't going to feel complete without him and anyone else, especially her father, be damned. This would finally be happiness for her.

“I'm proud of you, Dean.” Sam said, letting out a small laugh. “I'm on board for that.”

Dean smiled.

 


	9. One Movie, Four Years Later

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, things are going again. Another slightly short chapter, I apologize for that but that's just how it's falling. The next chapter will return to a little more destiel love, as the last two chapters have neglected that and I really need their relationship to build up for the things I'm planning.

~~~~~~~Present Day~~~~~~~~

It didn't seem like long at all to Sam before Cas was back, blinking up at her with wide, curious eyes.

“That wasn't too long.” Sam commented, sitting up sharply. Castiel blinked a couple more times before she began to nod her head, eyes scanning the room again. They lingered just a moment too long on the locked library, and Sam's eyebrows knitted together. “Is everything okay?”

“Yes, everything is adequate. Your sister is taking a nap and I was able to come and see you again. You _did_ ask me to return, no?” Cas clarified, head tilting to the side. Sam nodded her head, trying to stop the ridiculous blush that kept trying to rise to her cheeks.

“Yes, I did. I'm not sure how anything in here works, and I need to be able to do stuff, unless you want me to be bored out of my mind.” She said, ending it with a small laugh in attempt to lighten the mood. In truth, it was just an excuse. She wanted to spend time with Cas, if only so that she would _be_ with someone. She couldn't stand to be alone. Not now that she could feel again.

“Oh, yes. Of course. Come on.” Cas said, turning around. It seemed as though the longer she was walking, the more comfortable she was becoming in this new environment. She didn't seem as cardboard as she had just a few seconds ago, and in just a few seconds, she wouldn't seem as cardboard as she did now. She was adjusting to something, and that small detail gave Sam some sort of comfort.

Sam stood, her body heat being released from her blankets as she did so. She forced herself to keep her eyes up, refusing to look down at the holes blooming in her body.

“Well, most things work how they would in the human world. For example,” Cas lead her over to what appeared to be a small kitchen, and opened up the fridge. Inside was filled with some of Sam's favorite foods; healthy, green lettuce and tomatoes and even a bag of pizza rolls, which were her guilty pleasure. “Everything in here is decided by you. You have the ability to control what's inside the fridge if you want to. Right now, it's acting off of your subconscious.”

Sam nodded, understanding most of what Castiel had said. She followed when Cas walked a few feet to a door, one that Sam hadn't noticed there before. She wondered if it had something to do with her coming to her senses, and felt like it probably did. She ignored the feeling, brushing it off for now.

“If you want to go somewhere, you can concentrate on where and open the door. As long as you've been there before, nothing unsavory should happen. I would stress that you take caution, though.” Cas warned. “The mind can be a dangerous place, and you still have a great deal of healing to do.”

Sam nodded again, keeping her mouth shut.

Over the next little while, she listened to everything that came out of Castiel's mouth. She rarely asked questions and was rarely asked to demonstrate something, although she had confidence that she was able to. After all, it was her own mind, so she felt in control.

Finally, it seemed as though they were done. She frowned in worry when Cas stopped speaking, glancing at the clock to see that only twenty minutes had passed since they had started the lesson. She didn't want to be alone again, and she had assumed that it would take longer. It appeared now as though there was nothing else that could save her from the quiet of her own thoughts.

There was a pause of silence, and Castiel spoke. “Your sister would like me to pass along her love. She misses you too.”

“Thank you.” Sam said, looking down at her feet. They were bare, buried in the lush carpet. She focused on the sensation, rather than the knowledge that she would soon be left alone again.

There was another, longer pause. Sam was too intent on distracting herself to really focus on the fact that the silence was becoming awkward. Cas shuffled a little bit, eyes beginning to wander as they tended to do.

“Well, I believe I have to go back to Dean now.” Castiel said. She didn't miss the sad gleam in Sam's eyes as her head slowly rose, nodding in acceptance.

“Tell her I love her again, please.” Sam said, looking away again. She eyed the bed with quiet disdain, knowing that it was where she would return. If she could feel her soul, she knew it would feel tired. Rest may help her to seal up the holes in herself, even if it would take a long time and she would feel lonely and sick of sleep.

“Sam.” Castiel said, tentatively. Sam looked at Cas again, forcing herself to hide her emotions behind a wall. She wasn't going to let on how much she wanted Cas to stay, even if she logically shouldn't. Cas was powerful, she didn't know her, and she could be dangerous if Sam were to somehow tick her off. Even if Sam had no intentions of doing something like that, she wasn't stupid. She knew she couldn't be sure how sensitive Castiel was, couldn't _really_ trust the words of something so ancient and powerful.

So why did she feel herself slowly slipping into doing exactly that? Why did Cas feel so familiar?

“Would you like me to stay?” Cas asked. Sam blinked, pulling herself out of her thoughts and to the present. She slowly processed what Cas had said. “Just until Dean wakes up. If you would like, I could keep you company.”

As soon as her words clicked, Sam couldn't help the smile that spread across her face.

She tried to cover up her joy by clearing her throat and nodding her head, scrunching her eyebrows together. “Yeah, that would be cool. Have you seen the movie _Frozen_?”

~~~~~~~~~ London, England. Year 1689 AD~~~~~~~~~~

Dean wondered, sometimes, where exactly her mom had gone.

She had left a note one day, warning of the dangers of the town. She had told Dean to be careful, watch herself, to run if she had to. She had been there one day, and gone the next, in the blink of an eye. A month after Dean had moved out on her own, she was really and truly forced to be alone.

That was six months ago. Things were a little bit different now. She was slowly adjusting to her mother being gone, with the help of some new friends, of course.

Her “new friends” mostly consisted of small pixies and sprites that Sam had found. They were friendly for the most part, troublemakers for the rest of it. She was always busy with teaching them how something worked or learning magic that only they possessed thus far, writing down everything she could in her book of shadows. She learned, she grew, she thrived, she adapted. She knew that her mother would be proud of the strong young witch that she had become.

In fact, she had saved four lives in the last couple of months. Simple cleansing spells and water helped to flush smallpox out of the system of the English people. It was simple and easy to make, though the people were often too wary of witches to buy it. Desperate ones always seemed to throw morals out the window, though.

Dean had actually taken to giving away what she could. Grant it it wasn't much, but the lives of the poor were worth just as much as the lives of her wealthy clients.

Sam was watching her make some cleansers right then, tail tagging back and forth across the table as she purred, content. Dean used a bit of magic, and she could feel her and Sam's connection flare as she did. She reached over to scruff her familiar behind the ears, a reward for all of the hard work. Both of them had been using an awful lot of magic lately, and she didn't want that to go unappreciated.

“We should take the day off tomorrow.” She mumbled. Sam's tail twitched in agreement, and she let a smile stretch across her face. Right on time then, the door was banged upon by a nervous hand. She winked at Sam before sliding gracefully across the floor, (or at least she tried to be graceful; she almost tripped halfway through) and opening up the door.

She handed over the vial with the cleanser, and the peasant woman's hands shook as she handed Dean her payment. Dean nodded her thanks, grabbing the door to shut it.

She found that same hand in the way, keeping it open.

She let out a small sigh of annoyance, eyes flickering back to Sam before she pried it the rest of the way open. The peasant woman looked frightened and wary, and Dean couldn't quite tell if it was the usual nerves they got when buying from her, or if there was something else going on here.

“I believe it my duty to warn you,” She began, in a hushed voice, “I don't believe in what you're doing, but it's saving my only son. The Church is expecting some witches to be in this area, and they might go looking to burn someone soon. I wouldn't suggest you stay out so much as you have before; it might be dangerous. Be careful who you sell to, because they may fear their souls more than they fear the curse of a witch.”

“Thank you.” Dean mumbled, the gears in her head turning. One of her mother's worst fears had always been getting caught working their craft and being burned at the stake, and she had instilled a healthy fear of the same onto Dean ever since she had started learning magic. Really, the best thing to do in this situation would be to lie low for a few months, especially since she'd gotten stocked up in her potions. She had enough money to stay without income for six months if she had to, maybe even longer if she could get out before winter and get some fishing done. Living poor would be a good alternative to burning alive.

If all went well, over the next couple of months they would point their fingers the wrong way and take someone innocent in for questioning. If they were actually found innocent, the church would declare the town pure and move on for a few years, at least. If she were declared guilty, they would burn her and come back next year around this time just to “check up” on things. She hoped for everyone's sake that the poor and those who needed her help would know the right person to point fingers at to give them a greater span of freedom and save the loss of a life.

“Well, Sam, why don't you turn human and help me clean all of this up?” She asked, gesturing towards her workplace. Currently, it was a disaster. A loveable disaster, one that worked for her, but unfortunately not the kind of disaster you would want in your home if church officials decided to have their run of the place.

She turned to busy her hands herself, grabbing pots and pans and throwing them into the sink to be washed later. Her small cauldron was immediately rinsed, and she dropped to her knees to feel out the secret compartment in the floorboard where she would keep it until she felt it was safe again.

“Why don't you do it yourself, jerk?” Came a voice, teasing, from above her. She felt a smile stretch across her face.

“Maybe because I have a bitch like you to help.” She responded curtly. She stood again and shoved the cauldron immediately into Sam's sternum, watching as Sam's hands moved automatically to wrap around it and keep it from falling. She smiled a little bit, stepping to the counter again and starting to grab the more questionable ingredients, careful to put them in their proper containers. “Can you find the place for that?”

With that, Sam and Dean both set about cleaning everything up. They bustled around the kitchen, grabbing things and placing them in their respective places, somehow managing to never actually hurt each other. Dean smiled at Sam as she saw that their work was almost done; they had maybe another half an hour to go, and it had felt like they had been cleaning forever at this point. She held up her hand and let out a long breath.

“I think we've done enough for today, don't you think, Sam?” She questioned, patting her hands together as if to dust them off. Sam turned and her face turned a little bit sour, as if she had just smelled something that she didn't quite take a liking to.

“Dean, there's still plenty to clean here. How can you say that we're almost done? Are you crazy?” Sam demanded. Dean shrugged, stretching herself out. With a quick glance out the window she could see that night was falling, and she let her entire body relax with the knowledge that it would soon be time to go to sleep. Sam couldn't keep cleaning in the dark.

“Well, I'm headed to bed. If you're really determined to get everything done without me, there are candles in the cupboard.” She announced, knowing that Sam _hated_ to work by candle light. ( _It's like half-and-half night and day. I can see in the dark when I'm a cat but I need one of those when I'm a human? I don't think so_ ).

“No, you're not. I'm not doing this by myself.” Sam announced, turning and glaring at Dean. Dean shrugged and started to walk back towards her bedroom, intent on following her own desires. She was sore and her magick was drained and she wanted to cuddle with Sam. She had a fix for at least two of those things.

A hand gripped the counter in front of her, stopping her path. By the time she had turned to see what Sam thought she was doing, there was another hand on her other side, boxing her in. Sam grinned down at Dean, (because of course, she had grown up to be taller than her witch) and attempted to make her face stern. “If you go to bed now, you're cleaning up this entire mess by yourself tomorrow. I'm not even joking.”

“Only if you come to bed with me now.” Dean said, immediately. Her hands moved to sit firmly on Sam's hips, and she pouted just the smallest bit. She felt Sam's body immediately curl around her own, Sam's eyes softening on impulse as they moved just a bit closer, effectively taking up one another's space. She could taste Sam's breath in the small space between them, and she thought again that of all the things in life she had, Sam was the one she wanted to let go the absolute least.

She had no idea what they were doing. It was dangerous, being with her familiar. Both of them knew that the lives they lead were already unconventional, there was already so much that they could lose if the other were to be gone, but neither seemed to actually care. They were breaking witch laws as much as they were breaking human laws, and that put them in bad positions on both sides, but they didn't know how to stop themselves when both parties seemed so willing to break the rules. The taste of each other's lips conquered and destroyed any logic they had about the situation, leaving behind only shaky breaths and a definitive _want_ that sank deep into their bones.

Out of all the things Dean had wanted in her life, Sam was both the one she wanted the most and the one that had come easiest. There wasn't much discussion on the matter; they just kissed one day, and didn't question it the next. The call, the pull that they had with each other was strong enough that neither one doubted for even a second the other's feelings, and Dean could honestly say that, while she had kissed quite a few other people in the few years she and Sam were just friends, Sam was the only one she kept wanting to kiss again and again.

“You're devious.” Sam purred, her chest literally beginning to rumble. Dean leaned forward and pressed their lips together softly, arms coming up to wrap around Sam's shoulders in attempt to get their bodies closer together. She felt her knees go weak as Sam's tongue probed along the edge of her lips, and her legs naturally spread to allow Sam's hands to slip to her thighs and pick her up, carrying her, lips still pressed together, to their shared bed. She dumped Dean into it the moment they got there, Dean making a small sound in protest of the lack of connection.

Sam let out a small, amused laugh before climbing into bed. She pressed her body up against Dean's and pressed small kisses to her neck, causing Dean's entire body to relax into her touch. Neither tried to take it any farther than kissing that night; they were both tired and wary and they didn't need any more than what they were already doing to know that they loved each other, so they just snuggled.

Dean thought that it was wonderful, having Sam so close. Her lover's, her _familiar's_ , legs tangled up in her own and face pressed against her neck. Sam was technically still wearing a collar, but it had grown to fit her, and was soft enough that having it touch Dean's skin wasn't itchy or uncomfortable.

She felt a firm kiss get pressed into her forehead. “Goodnight, Dean.”

“Love you too, Sam.” She said sarcastically. She could practically hear the eye roll that she received, and a smile lit up her face yet again in the dark.

As she was pulled into sleep, she couldn't help but think about how lucky she was to have such a beautiful familiar and friend.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please kudos/review?


	10. Two Weeks Later

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter took longer than usual. Sorry for the wait! Please comment and kudos, it will encourage me to continue faster.

~~~~~~Present day~~~~~~

Dean slowly woke up, her body sore from the extra sleep. Of course, being as young as she was and this being the best night's rest she'd had in quite awhile, she was well-rested and ready to go, even if she did feel a little stiff in the muscles.

She opened her eyes, brows pulling together in confusion as she saw that the bed next to her was empty. Searching through her foggy memories, she could remember that Cas had fallen asleep next to her and she was missing school today. She wondered why the bed was empty.

Worry started to blossom in her stomach. Castiel was dangerous, that much she knew. She knew that the life they were living was dangerous right now; there were questions that Cas refused to give her the answers to, and she felt helpless to ask them, as she couldn't afford to upset the person currently running her sister's body. She pushed down panic.

Her feet hit the floor and she walked across the room, grabbing the door and slowly working on prying it open. The tile of the hallway sent a cool shock up her system, and she wished she had grabbed a pair of socks.

The noise of shuffling feet reached her then, distinct and light. She followed the noise without hesitation, walking through the hallway and into the kitchen. There, she saw Cas, a bowl of cereal in her hands and a look of vague confusion on her face. A small bit of relief settled in her.

“Good morning.” She said gruffly. She walked over to the table and sat down, catching out of the corner of her eyes Cas's surprised expression.

“Good morning. I believe this is acceptable for breakfast? I'm not certain how you feel about it being a little soggy, but I was under the impression that you were going to wake before you did.” She responded, setting the bowl of cereal onto the table and slowly sliding it over to Dean. Dean stared at it in shock.

“You... made me breakfast?” She questioned. Castiel shifted a little bit, nodding her head.

“I used to make you things to eat when you were upset, in our previous lifetime. Small things. Once, I, uh,”  
Cas paused, letting out a small laugh, “I set the kitchen on fire by accident.”

“You did?” Dean asked, dropping her spoon into her cereal bowl in surprise. Cas gave her a small smile, relaxing into the chair.

“Yes, yes I did. Sam was absolutely floored. You wouldn't stop laughing and he was spraying everything with a fire extinguisher. It was actually a fond memory, as fond memories go.” Cas said, looking down. Her eyes were softer, a little part of her lost in the memory.

“Well, remind me to check and ask the teacher which day is fire safety day. Because we have to make sure to go to that now.” Dean said, letting out a small laugh. Cas seemed to be amused rather than angered by the whole situation, and Dean thought that was nice. As Cas began to talk more and more about their past, she unfroze. It was like watching a beautiful flower bloom as spring gradually warmed it.

“I will do that. Though I'm not actually allowed to touch the oven anyways.” She mumbled, still looking pleased. Their eyes stayed glued together for a few small and fragile moments, and Dean could feel something inside her begin to melt just a little bit, too.

Her attention quickly turned back to her cereal bowl, face heating up. They had maintained eye contact for just a little bit too long, and she felt vaguely uncomfortable with the entire affair. This was a person whom was keeping things from her; important things. She shouldn't be making googly eyes from across the table.

“What are we going to do once you're done eating? I'm not certain as to what's customary for days “home from school”.” Cas said, after a long and awkward moment of silence. Dean finished chewing her bite before she answered, not minding the lack of crispness. It was captain crunch, which could really be eaten either way.

“Well, we could play video games, or go out to the woods. Mom comes home from work to eat lunch sometimes, so it would probably be better if we were gone by midday anyways. I can take some paper and crayons and we can draw for a little while.” She said, a plan forming in her head. It was only ten o'clock, so they could easily make it out there by eleven and come back in time to eat a late lunch.

“I know you don't eat, but shouldn't you try to?” Dean asked, suddenly. The principal had just occurred to her. Maybe Cas wasn't hungry, but _Sam_ might still be. She needed her soul to heal; shouldn't that equal needing soul food? “I mean, I can make you something, if you want.”

“I'm an Angel. I need no nourishment.” Cas said, head tilting to the side.

“Yeah, but what if eating will help Sam? I know apple pie always makes my soul feel better.” Dean said, patting her stomach. She stood with her empty cereal bowl, leaving a baffled Cas behind as she slipped it into the sink. She would wash it, but her mom needed to think that she had eaten when getting ready for school that morning, and then she wouldn't have had time to clean up.

“I don't see how it would, but if it would make you feel better I would be willing to try.” Cas said, nodding her head.

“Alright. I'm gonna fix us grilled cheese for lunch.” Dean announced. She knew that they had the ingredients and it seemed like it would be a good idea; Sam had always loved grilled cheese. In fact, maybe she should throw in some chicken noodle soup?

These thoughts occupied her as she gathered the things for coloring, pencils and crayons and markers going into a large bag. She didn't use the crayons much now that she was older, but they could still be useful and she didn't want to leave something behind that Cas might want to use.

~~~~~~~~~~

The outside was cold, chilled air seeping through Dean's jacket and seemingly into her bones. She couldn't help but wonder what Cas was feeling right now, and if Angels even really felt the cold, because Cas seemed to bundle up even when it was warm.

It was early in the school year still, but the autumn chill had decided to creep up on them sooner than it had any right to. Dean was relieved when the tree house finally came into view, anticipating the shelter from the wind more than anything else. It was high off the ground and felt safe with the four walls wrapped around her like a blanket. Out here, with everything feeling so surreal and new, the familiarity was something to long for.

“Cam you climb up with these?” Dean asked, shoving the colored pencils at Cas's chest. Cas caught them and looked down at them incredulously, confusion evident on her features.

“Yes?” She said, more of a question than anything else. Dean wondered if she knew what was actually in the bag, or if she was making assumptions. She decided that it wasn't important and, sticking her sketchbook in her mouth, began to climb the ladder upwards.

When she peaked her head through, she immediately reared back, almost losing her grip on the ladder.

“Jesus Christ, Cas!” She hissed around the sketchbook, grabbing hold of the platform for dear life. She looked back down at the ground and then back to Cas over and over again, trying to process that she had been there and now she was not. Logically, she knew it was because of flight. But that didn't stop her from reeling.

She eventually got her act together and climbed the rest of the way in, collapsing against a wall and taking the sketchbooks out of her mouth. They had small indents of her teeth around the edges from lack of care there, but inside the pictures were immaculate. Dean loved to draw.

“Pass me the stuff now.” Dean said, holding out her hand. Castiel looked wary before she handed Dean the bag, but she did so anyways. Dean opened it up and the pencils fell out, scattering all over the place. Castiel let out a small sigh, and Dean looked up, eyebrows raised.

“One of your lives wasn't all that pleasant. You kept a knife in a pouch that looked like that. I was worried about how much had come through in your memories and how close to heart you had taken it.” Castiel said, in explanation.

“It sorta sounds like not many of my lives were peachy keen.” Dean said in response, opening up her sketchbook. Castiel looked up at the ceiling and blinked hard, letting out a sigh as she thought. Dean gave her a moment before patting the ground beside her, gesturing for Cas to come and sit.

“You remember this?” Castiel asked, gesturing towards the drawing that Dean was doing in her notebook. She shook her head yes, eyes not leaving the paper as she continued in broad lines. “Your work is very good. You didn't get much time to draw, when this was there.”

Dean slowly glanced up, curiosity beginning to burn in her.

“What's it like? To remember everything clearly? Because I don't feel like you're telling the truth when you say you can't remember. Or maybe you've remembered more since then, but something seems different.” Dean said, knowing once Cas's eyes flickered with surprise that she was right.

“Well, I don't really remember _everything_.” Castiel mumbled. “Remember, I've been taken back for re-education several times and had everything wiped. I have to start over again, but somehow you and your brother always bring me back to you. You're both the brightest souls I've ever seen.” Cas said. She took a small pause, breathing in a shaky breath, and then continued, “There are things that I don't want to remember that I block out.”

“So how do you know to bring us back? How do you know about the things that you know about?” Dean questioned, not quite certain of whether or not to believe Castiel.

“I look into your eyes. I look into Sam's eyes. You two both have this effect on me, I just... I start to remember. Sometimes it takes longer than others, but now? I remember almost everything. You're a beautiful person, Dean. And your soul helps me remember.” Cas said. There was such a sincerity shining in her eyes that Dean couldn't have doubted her if she tried.

“Oh.” Was all she could respond, feeling her eyes lock with Cas's. Cas's eyes were sparkling blue and absolutely wonderful, in a way that Dean couldn't even describe. There was just something about them, something about her, that Dean liked. That Dean would never _stop_ liking.

“I feel very close to you, Dean Winchester.” Castiel said. Dean's head rang a bell of remembrance, and she knew that that was a part of who she was. She remembered guns and knives and monsters, but most of all, feeling an ultimate sense of _purpose_ , like no life had quite had before.

“I feel close to you too, Cas.” She whispered, knowing that the words were true.

Speaking seemed like it would break this moment. For this one, fragile moment, Dean felt like she could remember everything. A million friendships and more with Cas, in another lifetime. The strange, detached feeling of Cas's lips on hers in another place was surprising, but certainly not unwelcome. A million fond thoughts and a million times when Sammy had been saved only by Cas's hand came flooding back to her, and in that moment, it almost felt like she was in love with Cas.

But every moment shatters, none being able to hold something so delicate forever. A bird chirped and Dean felt her head turn before she even realized what she was doing, and all of it was gone. All of it was questionable.

It was suddenly so very very easy to tell herself that Cas was just Cas again, that all of those emotions and the feelings of lips were not important, were just a moment's trick of the mind.

Everything was so easy to lie to herself once Cas's eyes were turned away.

~~~~~~~

When they got back home, thankfully, their mother's car was not in the driveway. They were able to walk briskly inside unhindered, Dean with her sketchbook clamped tightly in her hands and Cas carrying the bag of pencils. She opened the door for Dean, stepping aside and gesturing her through.

“And they say chivalry is dead.” Dean said in faux romanticism, smiling and batting her eyelashes. Cas looked confused, and a small blush came over her face.

Dean ignored that, walking into the house and savoring the warmth in the air. She felt a little more free and a little more secure with each passing moment. She could feel herself beginning to relax around Cas, beginning to allow herself to be her own person even when it made her a little more vulnerable. And, for once, she stopped reminding herself that doing this was dangerous.

“What now?” Cas asked, the door shutting behind her. Dean paused, thinking through her plan.

“You go get the game set up downstairs, and I'll make grilled cheese. Be down in ten minutes.” She said, waving Cas on. Cas nodded her head and in the blink of an eye she was gone.

Dean thought while she made the grilled cheese. She thought about confusing feelings and other lives. She thought about how Sam would feel about all of this and feverently hoped she was at least okay, understood why this had to be done. She looked at her reflection in the faucet of the sink and realized that, now that she had some explanation, now that she knew she wasn't crazy, now that she understood where the nightmares came from, she was a little more okay with how it looked.

She was whistling brokenly as she came down the stairs, the small tune coming out a little bit broken on her smaller lips. She finally came down to the basement and looked around, hoping to spot Cas.

When she did, she choked back a laugh.

Cas was sitting in the floor, cords tangled around her this way and that from Dean's multiple gaming systems. She smiled broadly as Cas looked up, panic and resignation in her eyes as she gave a small, useless tug at one of them. Dean felt a smile spread across her face and she quickly put the plates in her hands down.

“You're being ridiculous.” She chastised, hearing the smile in her own voice. “And by the way, that word was on my spelling test last week.”

“I'm not ridiculous, you're the one who sent me to do something I don't understand how to do and expected differing results from these.” She said, sassing back. Dean shrugged a little, allowing that one.

“Mom is gonna kill us if we don't get all of this untangled. She'll know we weren't at school if anything is off when she comes home.” Dean informed Cas, struggling to pull a wire over her head. Castiel stayed silent, watching as Dean's hands worked to loosen the wire and pull it free, coming triumphantly over Castiel's head as she was finally able to tame a small part of the beast that was this tangle.

“I think I'll be doing the game setup from now on. You look like a spaghetti monster.” She teased.

“This isn't spaghetti, these are wires. This also isn't funny, Dean.” Castiel insisted, nose crinkling up as she began to squirm just a little bit. Dean placed a hand on her shoulder to stop her, and she felt Cas immediately calm down.

“It looks like spaghetti if spaghetti were this color, Einstein.” She reminded Cas, blinking as something just occurred to her. “Hey. If you were to fly over there, would the wires follow?”

Castiel stared at her blankly until suddenly, the space where she was was empty. Dean jumped a little as she heard a voice beside her state, “That was a good idea. I should have thought of that. I am exponentially older than this technology and just got outsmarted by a child.”

“I don't act like a child.” Dean reminded her. “I have memories and experiences from my other lives. That means that my maturity level is above other kids my age.” She said primly. Castiel rolled her eyes, and Dean elbowed her in the side playfully.

“You're absolutely insufferable.” Castiel mumbled, but Dean could see the smile on her face. Dean felt her heart inflate, and she let it. It felt good to see Cas happy.

“You're the one who acts so stiff all the time. What if I were to tickle you, Cas? Would you loosen up then?” Dean requested. Castiel's eyes filled with terror, and Dean knew in that moment that it had to be done.

She lunged forward, hands moving like lightning to Castiel's sides and beginning their work, tickling up and down fluidly as Castiel squirmed and pushed away her hands, barely holding in her laughter.

“This isn't funny Dean.” She tried to get out, laughing immediately afterwards. Dean felt a smile stretch across her face, and she shook her head back and forth.

“If it's not funny then why are you laughing?” She demanded, her hands shifting up to Castiel's neck and attacking there. Castiel's laughter intensified and she struggled to get away.

Dean finally stopped, seeing that Cas wasn't having as much fun with it as she was originally. She smiled a little bit more, thinking that this would make a really nice memory to have, even if it did come in the midst of a next life. Even if it dragged with it confusion and uncertainty. Because remembering Cas? That would be worth it, in any case.

“You ready to play? Dean asked, standing up and grabbing the wires. It didn't seem to take long at all until she was watching Cas awkwardly attempt to imitate the moves on the screen, body moving jerkily as she tried to keep up with everything.

~~~~~~~~~

Later in that night, as Dean lay in bed, she turned and looked at Cas's sleeping form. The warmth made her happy. The feeling of a body next to her made her happy. And overall, she came to realize that Cas made her pretty darn happy today, too. This seemed to be happening way too fast, almost disorientingly fast.

She missed Sam like hell and it was a gaping hole in her chest and she couldn't wait for her to be back, but... Well, she could make due with Cas for now.

She found that, other than Sam, she was one of the few whose company Dean had started to enjoy.

 


	11. An End to One Story, an Escape in Another

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In japanese it's hard to write an American or Brittish name. This chapter holds the conclusion of the Japanese lifetime and the way I spell Cas's name is actually the way you would have to write it using Japanese characters. Please bear with that and keep this in mind!  
> Also, sorry for the delay. I wrote a destiel oneshot that was 7,000 words long. BUT, I will write the next chapter of this story without any pauses to write anything else, so you should get it much sooner than usual.

~~~~~Approximately 975 AD~~~~~

Dean watched the waves rise and crest and fall again, the calm of the water seeping into her bones, shoving her worries down to the place where she wouldn't have to think about them. She had to admit that as much as she was confident in her plan, there were things she hadn't been able to figure out. And that worried her.

As long as she could get Sam to safety, she would be satisfied with how everything had turned out. But if somebody were to catch wind of what had happened before she was able to do anything, then... Well, hopefully the crew would be merciful.

Unfortunately, “merciful” wasn't usually a word that applied to them.

Sam looked guilty as he mopped the decks. He looked like he would have rather been down with the other slaves, where he didn't have food rations that filled his stomach or access to water. The last couple of weeks had been hard on him; he had to leave behind those suffering for, as he saw it, the pursuit of his own freedom. Dean had to constantly remind him that they couldn't save everybody.

Of course, that didn't stop her from feeling a little guilty, too. After all, she had let this go on for far too long, and she had grown more than tired of standing by while others were treated poorly. The guilt was something she had to swallow down, though, for the sake of herself and Sammy.

“Are you okay?” Sammy asked, startling her. She jumped a little bit, her gaze meeting Sam's eyes for a few seconds before she dropped her gaze to the ground. There was no way that she could lie to him. But god, did she want to.

“Honestly, I'm nervous. But I know you're doing what's right, and that you'll exceed everyone's expectations.” She said, putting on a bit of a show. Anyone listening would assume that she was talking about Sam going through the mental and physical testing required of all the crew members before they could be officially allowed to join their warriors.

Sam seemed to get her code, and he nodded a little bit. His eyes burned with a kind of hard intensity. “You wouldn't have picked me for this if I wasn't ready. You're a smart person, Dean. Everything will be fine.”

Dean allowed herself to calm at the words, relaxing a bit. Her arms came out to grab a hold of Sam and pull him in, wrapping him in her hold and closing her eyes. She squeezed, treasuring this moment together more than anything else. She wanted Sam to be with her for the rest of her life.

And she was absolutely certain that, no matter how nervous she was, that would happen.

~~~

The shore was odd. It was large and filled the entirety of her vision. Of course, in reality it probably wasn't the actual shore that was odd; just the way it contrasted against the waves after so long of only them, unbreaking and unwavering wave after wave. Then, suddenly, land.

She felt her heart quicken in pace. The stolen money, snatched from her Superior's cabin, sat heavy in her pocket. It felt unnaturally cold, as if it had a mind of it's own and was intent upon reminding her of what she was doing. She ignored the sinking feeling in her stomach that something was going to go terribly wrong and sucked in a breath of cool air, trying to let out some of her tension with her exhale.

Sam sat in his bed in the sleeping quarters. He was pretending to be resting up for the big examination tomorrow, making sure he was in prime condition for mental and physical evaluation. In reality, she knew he was simply waiting on her to call him for their plan.

Only a couple more hours now, and they would be as far away from this place as possible. The shore would be under their feet and the dizziness would be away from their heads and they would be able to, assuming they got far enough away, start a new life together.

The next two hours seemed to pass by in just a handful of seconds, life seeming to grab ahold of Dean and shove her forward before she was ready. She had, however, strategically picked the time that they would make their escape. She could no more give herself the time to be prepared than she could call it off altogether. She wouldn't do that to Sam or to herself.

She snuck into the bedroom, ignoring the stench of sweat and dried blood. She scanned the area, quickly locating Sam's bed and striding over to it, fingers shaking slightly as she shook his shoulder. “It's time.”

He turned around, eyes sparkling just the smallest bit. He was, unlike her, incredibly enthusiastic and faithful that they wouldn't mess this up.

Sam was quick at getting ready. He was up and had his furs on before she could even really give the command. He swooped down for a sloppy, happy kiss, and she shoved him away. As much as she would love that later, now was not the time to be goofing around. They had a job to do.

The wood of the ship had never seemed as creaky as it did then. Every step she took felt dangerous, like she was alerting the entire world to their whereabouts.

Dean leaned over the side of the door, looking intently for who was keeping guard. As she had suspected, it was Asger, and he had a pint of some kind of alcohol half-empty and attached to his hip. He faced the other way, eyes out to the sea, not paying attention to the land at all. This was, for their plan, perfect.

Dean grabbed Sam's hands, pulling him forward. The last rays of light were just beginning to sink from the horizon, painting everything into touches of pink and orange and yellow. It was a pastel world for now, which was much preferable to the later firey oranges and angry reds, if you asked Dean.

She felt a little sad, as she tied a rope around a bunch of barrels and hoisted it down, barely touching the ground. She had grown up in this place, her best friends were in this place, and she had never imagined a future before that didn't have this ship nestled firmly into her life.

Asger, he she would miss the most.

But she had more important things to think about now. For example, how she hadn't been able to get a free moment to ask Sam whether or not he knew how to keep himself from falling on his ass when climbing down an unknotted rope.

She climbed overboard herself, frustrated for not having thought of that before, but intent on going ahead with the plan. Luckily, Sam climbed down after her without a hitch.

A small mental sigh of relief left her once her feet touched down onto land. The crunch of sand underneath her shoes was a new kind of bliss to her overstressed mind. This was only one part of the escape, but most of the danger was over now. Climbing down the rope had taken a good ten minutes, and the others would have to actually put out the long plank of wood they used to climb up and down to the boat if they wanted to pursue them. Their only threat now was an archer; and Asger was the only decent one this ship had.

She grabbed Sam's hand once he was safely next to her. Sam glanced over and they shared a small, passionate look of love and devotion. This was something that they both had believed in, something they had accomplished together. This was something to be proud of.

And hell, was she proud of them.

They had a chaste but warm kiss that left Dean feeling just a little bit weightless, but they couldn't waste much time. Dean almost immediately pulled Sam forward and dragged him up and over a couple of large rocks, ignoring the light covering of snow that had accumulated there. The climbing of the rocks was long and tedious, especially since they had to take extra care not to slip in these conditions.

Dean had a moment to briefly wonder why everything was covered in ice. It was around early spring time and this place was supposedly “Greenland”, so shouldn't that mean that the place would be just beginning to have foliage and greenery growing all around? Shouldn't it be teeming with life?

She brushed aside those worries, trying to con concentrate on climbing the rest of the rocks. Sam was faster than her with the height advantage, but she was never very far behind, spending more time looking to find which rocks would be suitable for climbing left her just behind.

Once they reached the top of the outcropping, only trees and promise lay before them. Dean smiled, allowing herself a small moment of satisfaction. As soon as they moved past this place, they could disappear into the trees and find a village and collect food, warning them of the oncoming attack along the way.

They would, once they had proper equipment, build their own small home and hunt and gather and, if Sam was up for the idea, raise a family together. Maybe, once the vikings had left to go and report back to their town, Sam and her could find a boat back to his old home and find something in that area. Of course, far enough away that they wouldn't have to worry about being cau-

Birds flew up from the trees in all directions.

Dean was confused, for a moment. The trees suddenly seemed a little taller, and she was dizzy, and sounds didn't quite feel like sounds anymore. It felt like she was deaf. She watched as Sam turned and a look of horror appeared on his face, and it clicked that she was _on her knees,_ for some reason.

Then, like an oncoming avalanche, the pain hit. There was a tearing and burning of her muscles, a warm trickle that she recognized as more blood than she had ever lost running down the back of her leg. She realized through the haze of burning and confusion that, when she had fallen, she had screamed. The birds were gone because she had let out a wail of pain.

She struggled through the feeling of razor sharp metal in her flesh to stand, and found the task nearly impossible. But if she didn't, if she were to give up now, her and Sam would be caught in a matter of twenty minutes. She turned, eyes flickering to the arrow, still quivering inside of her, still sitting embedded in her flesh, and flinched.

The next thing that caught her attention was the fact that Sam was saying her name, over and over, in varying tones of worry and desperation. She slowly was able to hear again.

Finally, in the firey orange and red of the middle of a sunset, she saw Asger's face, full of grim determination.

She felt hatred like bile rise up in her throat. They had spent their lives together, she had left a note on his pillow, they had been best friends for years, and he _shot her with an arrow_? The truth and anger at his betrayal simmered in her veins like boiling water, itching to get out.

She knew he saw her.

His betrayal would not be forgotten.

Sam's arms were reaching their way underneath her and pulling her up before she got the chance to do something rash. He lifted her up and carried her as fast as he could, disappearing behind the thick layer of trees.

After all; they would have to find someplace to hide fast to avoid being caught.

~~~~~~Ancient Japan, Year Unknown~~~~~~~~

Dean and Sam inherited their parent's house, when they died.

The riches were not plentiful, but that didn't matter much. They loved the children in the village but were well aware that they could not have their own, so the wealth had to last only their own lifetimes. Considering that Dean and Sam worked to grow food every year in the garden, what they had left would be more than enough. In fact, it would be plenty.

When the papers were finally signed that the property was rightfully theirs, they danced in the kitchen. Dean sang a cheery tune while Sam hummed along quietly for a little while, before they were finally both belting it out and moving their bodies and smiling like fools.

Dean kissed Sam with passion, lips pressed together and bodies following as they allowed themselves this. Because they had managed to remain unmairried for the past thirty years, and they were still young enough to be happy about the future, and most of all they had each other. They deserved to stop worrying.

Eventually, feudal lords stopped trying to win their hands in marriage. Nobody questioned why the women lived together. That, or they knew and were just trying not to be rude.

As the years passed, Dean noticed that the small shrine to the god was more and more clean. Neither of them touched it aside from leaving an offering, figuring that if nature were to claim it that would be the god's desire, and yet it remained in tact. Through wind and rain and storm and all, it was a constant, standing against anything the world threw it's way.

Through the years, the brightly blue-eyed visitor came less and less often, until eventually Dean was afraid it had only been her imagination. The only thing keeping her from making such assumptions was Sam, whom kept her sane on the worst of days. Her lovely, darling wife Sam.

They had a mock wedding when they turned fifty, knowing that they were considered to be quite old. Sam dressed up in her best and moved slowly, her bones starting to give her trouble this early in the morning some time ago. She hated the way she was beginning to limp when she walked, but Dean didn't even see it. All she saw was her beautiful sister.

And she kissed that beautiful sister that day and pretended like it made them _belong_ to one another.

A couple of months after that, the forest was teeming with life and sound as she walked through it. Her basket with offerings was propped up on her hip and bumping every time she took a step. Sam wasn't far behind, and she could hear the twigs breaking as the footsteps followed her own.

It was a sound that the world would feel silent without, Dean thought.

“Are you stopping to smell every flower on the Sakura trees along the way, Sam?” She teased. Sam let out a huff.

“These bones aren't what they used to be. You rubbing my feet doesn't help all that much anymore, sort of like how you don't help all that much anymore.” Sam teased back immediately. Dean smiled.

A few more feet, and they would be to the alter. She slowed down their walk and let Sam catch up, holding a branch out of her way to approach the shrine. Sam let out a small huff, clearly cross at Dean acting like she couldn't even move a branch.

“Relax grandma, I would expect you to do the same for me.” Dean insisted, smiling. Sam's eyes rolled before drifting back to the shrine.

Suddenly, her basket was hitting the forest floor with a dull _thud_.

Dean turned to see what had left her so surprised, and almost dropped her own load in shock. There, on their shrine, a name was written, carved into the wood. It still glowed a bright blue, but abruptly stopped when Sam took a step forward. What it left behind was small, neat letters.

“Kasutielu?” Sam questioned. “Is the name from another place?”

“Cas- Castilu? Castiel?” Dean tried. At the second pronunciation the letters flared with glowing blue light yet again, and Dean felt her knees go weak.

The spirit who had watched over them for so long had finally given itself a name. No longer did they have to wonder or doubt. This spirit, this being watching over them, it was real. And it's name was Castiel.

Sam and Dean walked back that day with their steps being a little bouncier, their smiles a little wider. And even to their dying breath, (which was spent together as they both fell sick a year later and passed peacefully, leaving a legacy of soft and kindhearted women whom had done a great deal for the town) they remembered.

They always kept the name dear to their hearts.

~~~~~~~~Present Day~~~~~~~

Dean woke up with a smile on her face, and Cas's (no, _Castiel's_ ) arms wrapped warmly around her body. She knew now, the name of the angel.

She briefly considered telling her. Maybe Cas deserved to know that the secret of her name had been compromised. Then again, maybe she already did. Dean telling her might shatter the trust they had built, too, which she still considered fragile and delicate. Even if Dean knew it was irrational, she was afraid that Cas might leave her if she knew that Dean had knowledge she wasn't supposed to.

After all, Cas had said that she was keeping it a secret to protect Dean. What if saying it out loud right now was dangerous?

Sure it was a little ridiculous, but she couldn't help but be worried.

So, she decided that she wasn't going to say anything.

She pressed a kiss to the top of Cas's head, for the first time realizing that her thoughts of safety were not just of Sam, but of Cas, too. She had come to begin to care about this being. She had come to love Cas, just a little bit, for the things she had done and the things Dean knew she would do.

“Good morning.” She whispered, but then lowered herself back onto the bed. After all, it was Saturday. And she wanted a little more time to snuggle with Cas.

 


	12. Sam, Cas, and a Game of Chess

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Was super sick and couldn't write for awhile. No matter how long it may take me to update, I will not give up on this story. Just so you know :-)

~~~~~~~~~Present Day~~~~~~~~~~

They had gotten close in the last couple of weeks.

Sam didn't know how. She rarely ever trusted someone new so fast, and _especially_ not someone who was possessing her body, but Cas was special. It felt as if she had known Cas for a very, very long time.

“Your move now, Sam.” The angel mumbled, eyes glued to the chess board. Castiel and Sam had been slowly working their way through board games and movies that Sam knew. It was overall pretty darn entertaining.

Maybe that's why Sam fell into trusting the angel so quickly. The only one to keep her company and pass along messages from Dean was sitting in front of her, currently frowning at their Knight. Every time Dean slept, Cas would revert inside of herself to find Sam.

Cut off from the rest of the world, Sam found herself looking forward to Cas's visits like she used to look forward to kisses on the cheek from her older sister.

(Speaking of which, Dean had kissed her on the lips while she was in the hospital. She knew that they used to kiss on the mouth all the time when they were younger, but it felt different now. It felt strange. It felt wrong and right at the same time, and it was probably alarming that she was craving it again but she couldn't find it in herself to care).

After careful deliberation and uselessly trying to figure out Cas's poker face, she moved her queen up two spaces. Sure it was freeing up her king for an eventual attack, but she was also lining herself up to take the Knight Cas kept eying. She was pretty sure that it would be a smart move to take it before Cas did something with it.

“You're a very skillful player for your age, Sam.” Castiel praised. Sam felt her cheeks heat up at the praise. That was another weird thing about Castiel; it seemed like she really didn't care about how consistently she gave compliments. It seemed like she was constantly praising Sam, and Sam felt herself liking the positive attention more and more with each passing day.

Their parents weren't around much, so the only person who gave her compliments really had been Dean. But Cas didn't lie, and she knew that Dean did sometimes, to make her feel good. Not that she didn't appreciate the gesture, of course, she just took Cas's compliments more to heart.

Castiel moved one of her pawns forward another space, and then Sam immediately moved her queen to capture the Knight. In doing so, she had missed that Castiel moved the pawn to be in the perfect position to take her queen after that move.

Sam frowned.

“Your sister is doing pretty good. She trusts me more now, and I think your holes are stitching up quite nicely.” Castiel said, without looking away from the board. Sam almost missed it.

“Whoa, Dean, trusts you? Cas, that's amazing. I'm glad she's making some friends that aren't me.” Sam teased. Cas smiled just a little bit. Apparently she had been around Dean enough to understand where this was coming from.

“Well, your sister isn't always the friendliest human being. But I'd say you should cut her some slack. She has a lot going on, sort of like you.” Cas teased. Sam felt her lips draw up into a smile as she made her next move. At this point, she was barely paying attention to the game, preferring to talk about Dean and liking to hear Cas's voice, which stood stark against the usual silence of this place.

“Yeah, except I have holes in my soul.” Sam joked. She looked down at the places where she could still see through herself, and she felt no upset. Everything would get better in due time, and she knew that the time would come eventually.

Suddenly, something struck her.

What would happen to Cas once she was healed? Sam wanted to get better and she wanted to see Dean, but she also didn't want either of them to have to lose someone who had started to become a friend. Sam enjoyed spending time with Cas, and wanted to be able to do it outside of just her head. And, hopefully, for longer than it would take her to get better.

“Hey, Cas? What are you going to do once I'm better? Where are you going to go?” Sam asked, hoping that the answer wasn't as sad as she was thinking it would be.

Cas paused, and the look in her eyes confirmed Sam's suspicions.

“I'm going to roam around for a bit. Maybe I'll go back to heaven and make sure it hasn't dissolved into shambles. Most of the angels that we thought were dead have found their ways back to life, and while it is a great deal comforting to see Balthazar and know I have his friendship again, I don't thing Rafael is doing much good.” Castiel mumbled.

Sam paused, torn. Cas had a family up there in heaven, sure, but... if she didn't care for Sam and Dean, she wouldn't be here in the first place. There was no way she would get angry at Sam asking her to stay. And telling her she had the option would be the best thing to do.

“Maybe... Maybe you could start looking for a vessel now?” Sam suggested, biting her lip. Cas shook her head back and forth.

“I have to be incorporeal to search for my vessel, and they have to be in the right family line. There is one close to here that I could look at as a possibility, but...” Cas stopped talking, grief and guilt striking her face. Sam immediately felt concerned.

“But what?” She pushed, moving her chess piece. Cas took a deep breath, to steady herself, before continuing.

“When I possess a body, it's usually not as clean cut as it was here. I mean, I always have to get permission, but... I take up a human's space, time, and goals. Imagine if you were stuck in this room-- except dazed, disoriented, and uncertain of the reason why. Slowly and occasionally getting glimpses of what's happening but overall having no control of your body.

“I did this. I did this for a long time to a very good man, whom had a family. He had a future. He had a wife and a child that had to grow up alone because of my reckless and selfish actions. I have promised myself that since then, I will only take vessels of those who are dying. They can give me permission and, as long as I focus enough, I can slip in while their soul leaves their body. But I would never do it if I could help it.” Cas said.

Sam nodded a little. Yeah, she understood that. Cas didn't live to hurt people, he lived to help people. Doing that to someone probably tore him up on the inside.

Suddenly, Sam felt a little funny. Almost like somebody was sharing a joke and she wasn't in on it. Like there was something she should know that she didn't, that word on the tip of your tongue except so much bigger and heavier and it gave her a headache just to feel the burden of repressed knowledge.

Suddenly, the library doors shook and rattled, causing Sam to start. She turned to glare them down, waiting for them to spring open, but the lock held firm. There was no explosion. The only doors that Sam could not open were shaking and rattling, but they would not budge.

Castiel turned to them, narrowing her eyes and scrunching her nose, surveying them as if to make sure that there weren't any chinks in the twisted metal. Sam felt her heart beat slowly return to normal as they rattled their way into silence, remaining still once again.

“If somebody who is a suitable vessel is on the verge of death, will you come back to me?” Sam asked, after a moment of silence. The fear of losing Cas had lodged itself firmly into her stomach, and it had proved that it wasn't leaving.

“Will I...?” Cas questioned, uncertainty flickering in her eyes as she took one of Sam's bishops.

“Will you come back to me and Dean? Will you come back and see us?” Sam questioned, feeling hope rise within her. She loved Castiel, had come to love her deeply, as if she had always done so. It was an odd feeling.

“I'm... I'll try.” Castiel finally said, after a long stretch of silence. Sam decided that, for now, that was good enough. She turned back to the game, watching as Cas moved a piece to corner her king entirely. There was no way she was going to win this.

And she was afraid that that may apply to multiple situations in her life right now.

~~~

It wasn't long before Sam began to notice a pattern.

Cas would come, she would stick around, and every time she mentioned something from her past and Sam felt like there was something she was forgetting, the library doors would rattle. They would shake and sometimes they would shake so hard they almost came off their hinges and Sam was all the more curious each and every time of what they could possibly be containing.

Sam loved to read. It didn't make sense that the only place in her mind she didn't have access to would be her typical place of comfort and knowledge. Why did the universe have such a cruel sense of humor?

She knew that if she could just get in there, she would be able to make it through the time when Cas was gone. Plenty of books would line the shelves and she would be in heaven picking them out and devouring them, one after another.

That's when she really got to thinking.

She could make a book she had already read appear on a bookshelf if she wished. So, why would the library be locked? What could possibly be in those books?

All in all, her intuition was screaming at her that danger was afoot. Nothing good could come out of trapped or forbidden knowledge, especially not when Cas kept side-eyeing it as if she was _afraid_ of the barrier breaking. So, Sam made a choice. Never in her life had not knowing been better than knowing.

And so, she decided to ask.

“Cas?” She questioned one day. Cas was leaned against her, legs propped up on the couch. She was nice and warm, and Sam took a second again to be grateful for her company. (Especially since Cas was so affectionate; Sam would go crazy if she didn't get the occasional hug from a friend).

“What is it?” Cas questioned. Her eyes were still flickering across the television screen as the characters spoke, showing that she was only half paying attention. Sam knew that Cas was almost impossible to get to talk after she already had soemthing occupying her mind, so she quickly reached over to the remote and paused the movie to ensure that she would have Cas's full attention.

The television stopped, and Cas turned towards her, brow furrowing in confusion.

“Cas,” Sam stated, “What's in the library?”

Cas paused, her eyebrows drawing together. “What do you mean, what library?”

“The one behind those doors.” Sam said, gesturing behind her. Recognition flashed across Cas's face, and she nodded her head slowly, remaining silent. She looked down at the ground, as if planning what she would next say. Sam was patient with her, but couldn't help the nervous anticipation swirling in her belly.

“You believe it to be a library. I can see where you would draw those conclusions.” Cas said, voice barely audible. Sam leaned forward a little and Cas abruptly looked up again, an odd swirl of emotion in her eyes. “Sam, I know I am asking a lot, but I can't tell you. Your bonds may look strong but they are only as thick as you percieve them to be because you don't know what they are or how to undo them. If you were to open those doors, it would be a disaster. You have to believe me, alright? Please, just don't ask.”

Sam paused, unsure of what to say. A part of her wanted to demand answers, another part wanted to run away because she knew that Cas's words were true.

“Alright.” She said, reluctantly. She promised herself that she would try later, in secret. While kn owing may make the bonds weaker, it would also allow her to prepare herself, and push down this seemingly insatiable curiosity rising up inside like a tidal wave.

Cas looked relieved. “Thank you, Sam.”

Sam reached over to the remote and pressed play, her body still tense even as Cas's settled and relaxed, getting swept away by the screen.

~~~

It was a month later when Sam realized that she had the answer to opening the doors all along.

In her spare time, she had taken to staring at the large, wooden frame. Her eyes had wandered over it, admiring the pale wood and the darker parts, taking in all that it had to offer. She wanted to know it's secrets, and soon a want grew into a need and a need grew into an obsession.

She noticed that, in her new state of mind, the holes in her middle would not continue to repair themselves. They remained gaping and wide, the very center of her hollow and barren. It felt _wrong_ to not know what was behind those doors. It felt like she was never going to truly know herself. It felt like the lack of knowledge was a wound that would never heal.

Cas started to get concerned, after two weeks of no development. She said that maybe her being there was too much stress on Sam's system. She had told Sam that the only thing keeping her from leaving now and seeing if Sam could support herself was Sam's insistence that right now, she couldn't.

And she knew that to be true. Until she knew the answers and had asked the questions to the deepest part of herself, she couldn't truly be in control. She would crumble.

In her dreams, (for now she attempted to pass the time with half-sleep) she saw a key. It was large and ornate and golden, and it mocked her endlessly. She wanted to reach out and grasp it, she wanted to make it her own, she wanted more than anything to have the answers that she knew that room held for her.

She felt so out of control. It just wasn't fair. She couldn't even heal herself now, she wasn't allowed to know what her own head had inside of it, and an angel was inside of her body. As much as she knew it was necessary, that didn't stop her from feeling any less helpless about it all. Much more of this, and she knew she was on a path to break down and disintegrate.

There was, however, one thing that kept her sane.

Apart from the library, she had free roam of everywhere else. She could think up everything, do anything she so wished, and she could blink and anything she wanted would appear in her hand. Even if real life left her vulnerable and without control, here she had the reins. Here, she could lay in bed all day or go to the park or watch her favorite movie ten times in a row.

She had just materialized an apple one day when it hit her.

If she could make all of this appear, why not a simple key? Why not the thing that had been haunting her dreams for weeks now? What was stopping her from closing her eyes and opening them to find it clutched tightly in her hands?

The answer, in short, was nothing. She had free reign in her own mind.

Tentatively, she closed her eyes. Her hand was open expectantly, and she hoped and prayed that what she was going to try would work. She pictured the soft curve of the metal, the sparkle of the jewels, the firm brass feeling as it had set heavy in her hands, and-

She opened her eyes to find it there.

Briefly, she wanted to go to the door and open it immediately. Another part of her contested, though, insisting that she should talk to Cas first, and see if she could get any clues as to what would happen, see if anything was going to tear her apart. Cas had said it was dangerous, but she hadn't specified how dangerous. Another part still put in that letting herself soak in this victory would be good. She would revel in the fact that she had the ability to open it before she did.

She decided to let herself. Cas might have had a point about it being dangerous, and having that little secret weapon, knowing that she _could_ know when she needed to, felt nice. So, with a quick thought, she was standing back in the motel bedroom where she and Cas always met. Her bed was still messy from the last time she had slept in it, and though she could fix it with a quick thought, she liked the authenticity of it.

Her hand slipped under the pillow and it left the key behind. Later, she promised herself.

Later, she would find the answers that she had been searching for.

 


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long. Unfortunately two weeks is becoming standard for these chapters. I can't update as often as I would like because with the block in general on this story (I really just don't like writing it anymore) it takes a whole week to write one chapter of it. In that time I could write the equivalent of three of these chapters on another story, since I still have lots of motivation. I'm sorry about that.
> 
>  
> 
> I won't quit this, though. I can promise you that.

~~~~Approximately 975 AD~~~~~

Dean's arm was slung around Sam's shoulder, her legs wobbling as her vision blurred. She wanted to get somewhere she could rest; she was losing too much blood. And yet, Sam forced her on. Maybe he heard yells of the men in the forest, or maybe he knew that she needed to get to a doctor, and quick.

They walked through the night. At some point, the pain and loss of blood was too much and Dean passed out. She came back a couple of times, only conscious long enough to notice Sam's loving arms wrapped around her, carrying her to safety.

Even those times, though, were blurry and had a certain kind of unbelievability to them. She couldn't trust herself as far as she could throw herself, which certainly wasn't very far in the condition she was in. So, she let herself each time, fade off back into the black.

She trusted Sam. She trusted him with her life.

~~~

She woke up the next day, slowly coming to her senses as she tried to remember what had happened.

She was laying down on something, something soft and warm. The room felt warmer than the crisp air of outside, but it wasn't quite warm enough to stop goosebumps from blooming on her skin. Her eyes slowly opened to reveal grey walls and Sam, sitting asleep in a chair next to her, head leaning onto a small end table in a position that could not be comfortable.

Her leg felt restricted. She looked down and stared blankly as she realized why that was. The bleeding had stopped, and there was a bandage wrapped around it.

“Does this have stitches?” She wondered out loud. Sam suddenly awoke, sitting straight up with no pause or delay. He looked at Dean, awake and alert, and relief filled his expression.

The sides of her face were grabbed, and he pulled her in for a sweet, long kiss. She reveled in the taste of her lover, giving a small moan at the feeling. God, this was perfect. How could she feel so good in a situation so complex? Sam was the only person she'd ever met that could make her feel like this.

“I'm so happy you're alive.” He breathed out as they broke apart, panting from exertion. She chuckled a little, shifting her body so that she could sit up. Her leg burned and she could feel flesh move; she gave a small flinch. Yeah, there were no stitches yet.

“I'm sorry I couldn't get you to anyone better, the doctor in this town was backed up because of some flu going around. A generous man let us stay in his house for the night when he saw how bad off you were.” Sam explained, his hand reaching down and grasping hers firmly.

“You're acting like a woman on me, Sam.” She teased weakly. Sam let out a small laugh.

“That's sexist.” He pointed out. Then, he continued, “We were really, really lucky. The man said that there isn't another town for miles of here, and we could have been walking for weeks if I hadn't-”

“Sam.” Dean interrupted, her heart thumping against her chest. No other town for  _miles_? No. There was no way they had luck this bad. They weren't going through this. There was no damned way this was happening.

“What?” Sam asked, clearly sensing Dean's distress. Dean's hands started to shake.

“This is  _the only town for miles_. Do you remember what the vikings did to your town?” Dean asked. Sam paused, taking a moment to process what Dean had said. Once it clicked, his eyes widened and he shook his head back and forth, as if trying to clear it.

“No. You're not saying what I think you're saying. There's no way-” As he was speaking, they were interrupted by a mighty cry. The cry of a hundred soldiers rushing into battle, rushing away. Dean jumped up, ignoring the awful, hungry pain in her leg as she did. She quickly calculated in her head how far away they sounded.

“Gather as much food as possible. Count to one hundred. If you're not outside by that time, we're both in danger.” Dean said, working fast. She rushed down a set of stairs, gritting her teeth to endure the pain. It had, of course, lifted a little with the surge of fresh adrenaline.

“But this doesn't belong to us!” Sam argued. One of Dean's favorite traits about him was how he always cared for others, but this time it was not so endearing.

“He's out of the house. He'll probably be dead, and he can't use it then now, can he?” She asked. Sam seemed to lose his conscience at that small reminder, grabbing things and putting them into a small bag.

There was a scream, much too close for comfort. Dean hadn't been able to find much beyond her trembling hands and pumping heart, but she knew that their lives depended upon them leaving now.

“Sam.” She commanded, walking towards what she assumed to be the back door. She must have been correct, because Sam didn't stop her, following along and reaching out to take the things she had grabbed, slipping them into his own bag. Usually Dean would protest, but her leg was in too much pain right then to be arguing.

They bursted out of the backdoor and began to run.

It was torture. Every step made Dean's bandage looser, her skin burning and her cut muscles objecting to beind worked, entire body eventually pulsing with pain and the desire to stop. The woods spanned out around them from every corner, and for the first time, they felt like a cage. Dean wanted to stop, she wanted to sit, she wanted to let herself have a moment, but she couldn't.

Eventually, her bandage came undone. It fluttered to the ground as she ran, Sam not taking notice. She enjoyed the fresh air on her hot skin, but she knew what that hot skin probably meant.

Infection was no joke when it came to wounds like her own.

Eventually, when her lungs burned and her body no longer registered pain, Dean found herself falling to her knees. Sam stopped beside her, concern filling his face and body language.

“Dean, are you okay?” He questioned, lightly smacking her face to try and get her to focus. Dean looked at him, mumbling a little.

“I-I'm tired. I need a break. There'll be a feast tonight, they won't come after us, we're far enough away.” She eventually managed to choke out. Her chest heaved with the effort of supplying air to her almost numb body.

It was cold. Yes, she was used to the cold, but this was even  _worse_. Ice and snow lay around in small sheets or blankets, the patchwork proving that wherever they were, it was probably not  _Green_ land.

“Okay, Dean, okay.” Sam said. He took a seat next to her, his hand slipping into hers as he did. Slowly, her breathing regulated itself, and she laid her head on his shoulder.

“We're going to have to live off of one meal a day until we find someplace with food.” She said, sniffing. She was tired again, and wondered how late she had slept in at that man's house. It was lucky she woke when she did.

Then again, judging by the way the sky was already beginning to turn varying shades of pink and orange, blushing with the colors of the sunset, it had been about time for her to wake when she did.

“We'll survive.” Sam said, smiling. Dean found herself smiling too, lulled into security by Sam's lovely, upbeat cheer. She couldn't help but think that this, despite the circumstances, was probably the happiest she had been and the happiest she could ever be. She wouldn't feel guilty for loving Sam;she couldn't. It was a part of her nature. It would be like trying to tell a bird to be guilty for building a nest, or a cat for catching mice.

“I don't know if we will. You know how much I love food.” Dean said, placing a hand firmly on her belly. Sam let out a bellowing laugh, no doubt remembering the first time he had saw her eat. Yes, she loved food.

“I don't know how you keep that figure.” He teased. Then, after a few moments of silence, he said, “There was a rock face, a few places back. I think it would be a good idea for us to go and find a place to sleep for the night.”

“That's a great idea. How does a rock face help?” Dean asked, slowly beginning to stand up. Her muscles were twitching and burning with their use.

“Well,” Sam stated, “I saw a cave in it, dumbass.” Sam teased. Dean rolled her eyes and patted Sam's shoulder, gesturing for him to get up, too.

The walk back to the place Sam had described was not long. It was actually quite relaxing, to be slowing down after so long on the run, adrenaline fueling every move. Dean's stomach started to complain,  _loudly_ , but she diligently ignored it.

“So,” She said, once they were finally there, “This is it?”

The rock face was shallow, just deep enough that they would be able to both fit in comfortably without limbs hanging out eveywhere. The ceiling was low enough that she had to crouch to get in, but it was still a pretty solid place. Somebody who was looking for them would most likely pass it up.

She crawled in, hating how she felt her heartbeat in her leg. Sure, she wasn't bleeding anymore, but the wound was still open, her body unable to keep it scabbed over. She was going to have to deal with it, and hope that it got better.

“What are we going to do?” Dean asked, situting herself against the wall. Sam lay down after her, snuggling up and reaching back, grasping blindly for her hand.

“Pick a direction, and keep going.”

~~~~~~~~London, England. Year 1689 AD~~~~~~~~~~

Dean walked through the market, hood pulled taught around her face to stop the rain from falling on her pale skin. She had taken a break. In fact, a two month break, in which she hardly left the house for fear of persecution. She had too much on the line right then, too much to live for to be killed in the name of a god she would never follow.

She was going now to get herbs. She had some people, regular customers, who needed to have their usual orders refilled. She had heard that they burnt two so-called witches, so she should be safe for awhile.

She walked up to the door of her usual herb girl, knocking in a specific pattern so that they would know it was her. She waited a few moments, looking aimlessly around at the empty alleyway, before she noticed it was taking longer than usual and raised her hand to knock again.

A man opened the door, one she recognized from her many times here. He looked her up and down and his red, swollen eyes hardened with anger. “Get the bloody hell away from my house. You're not welcome here.”

“I'm sorry, but  _excuse me_?” Dean asked, feeling anger rise within her.

“You heard me. Get away. Go home. Never come back here.” He growled, his eyes filling with tears.

“Okay, listen here. I'm just looking for your-”

“Yeah, I know who you're looking for.” He interrupted, venom seeping from his words and into her bones, “She's  _dead_  now, because of scum like you. Got accused of witchcraft because she grew herbs. I hope riding the Devil's dick was worth it.” He said, spitting at her feet. Dean jumped back.

“She's...?” She questioned, feeling her heart hammer against her ribs. Oh, no. This was not good.

In fact, she'd better get out of here. People liked to spread rumors about who came and tried to see the witches once they were already burned, and the last thing she needed was talk like that. She turned on her heel and kept her eyes low to the ground, deciding not to yell at the asshole today. It would cause a scene she couldn't afford and he had just been through a major loss.

As she walked back to her and Sam's little house. She closed her eyes and took in a deep breath, trying to stop the tears from falling down her face. She loved Sam, loved her job, but there were times like these when everything seemed to get her down. Complications were around and it seemed like everything was falling apart and it was all her fault.

Because while no, she didn't hold the fire up to that poor girl's stake, that had been one of the few human friends Dean had, and now she was dead because of her. Well, more because of the few witches in this town in general, but it still felt like it was her fault. She didn't want things to be like this. She wanted stability, security, she wanted to be able to practice her beliefs in  _peace_ , but no. She was forced to hide and lurk in the shadows, helping people when she could and fearing everyone when she could not.

She didn't even realize she was home until she almost ran face-first into her front door. She opened it, and the door rattled on it's hinges as it shut behind her. Sam turned from where she was sitting, fear in her eyes.

“Are you okay?” She questioned, standing in front of the sink, using water from a bucket to wash out Dean's now-dusty kettle. Dean took another breath, and this time, she let the tears fall down her face.

Sam's expression morphed into one of concern as she slinked forward to wrap her arms comfortingly around Dean's torso. “What happened?”

“She's dead. We have to grow our own herbs now, and she's  _dead_ , and I'm scared that that will-” Sam cut her off with a sudden and passionate kiss, her body curving around Dean's in the low light.

“Don't you ever say that.” Sam gasped, as they broke apart. In between small and passionate kisses, she continued, “I would” kiss, “never, ever” kiss, “let  _anything_  like that happen to you.”

“Yes, I'm sure the villagers with their stakes and fire would be terrified of a small cat.” Dean said. And, despite her sarcasm, she did feel better. Sam made her feel safe, her arms warm and her hair soft and her lips slightly chapped. She tasted like blood and anger sometimes, and others like honeysuckle and musk. She was what Dean needed when Dean needed it.

But Dean was afraid to lose her, too. Dean needed something she knew she wouldn't lose.

~~~

Two months later and Dean had a small herb garden in the back.

She had enchanted it many times to keep away predators, make it blend in with the scenery, and make sure fae don't try to steal her herbs. However, it doesn't seem to work as well as she hoped it would. Her green thumb was not up to par.

It was, essentially, a disaster. Yes, she was getting harvestable herbs, but there was a lot of waste, too. She had to give potions in smaller quantities, which made some of her usual customers complain beyond belief, especially when they were for pain. That was all that she could offer!

Eventually, she decided that she had had quite enough. She was going to go to the marketplace, Sam stalking behind her as a feline, and find somebody else who would sell her herbs. Hopefully, if she played her cards right, she could get them to assume she was a chef or making a special meal.

She walked among the market, eyes flickering back and forth between some sellers. She was looking for someone a little shadier than just these out here; someone who may be used to dealing with people looking for herbs that were... unconventional. That was her best and safest bet to get what she needed.

Suddenly, she bumped into someone. Her feet got tangled up and she almost fell, arms reaching out blindly to wrap around the other person. She was a little shorter than Dean, but locked up, refusing to move and holding steady, even as all of Dean's weight came to rest upon her.

As soon as she had her balance, Dean pulled away. The girl had bright blue eyes and lovely pale skin. She was dark-haired and had a full set of lips, chapped in a way that reminded her of Sam's. Dean realized that she had been staring for too long, without any kind of apology, and she blushed.

“Are you okay?” She questioned, clearing her throat.

“Of course. I, uh, are you Dean?” The woman asked. Dean was all of a sudden suspicious. What the hell? How did this woman know her name? If she was from the church...

“Yeah, who's asking?” She demanded, demeanor turning hard and rigid. This woman didn't seem to mind.

“Well, I just did. I, uh, have something that I think you might be interested in, if you'll just follow me here.” She said. She looked both ways before turning and strolling into an alleyway, where no vendors were located. Dean paused a moment, trying to decide whether or not it was a trap. She could easily be lured to her death by small propositions like these, leading straight into the hands of people who didn't understand magic.

Somehow, she found her feet moving and eyes darting back and forth suspiciously. She had no reason to trust this woman, other than how painfully familiar she seemed, and yet here she was, walking down a back alley and straight into what could be the belly of the beast. She couldn't even stop herself now, she was already so close to finding out what the woman wanted. Curiosity like Sam's had a hold on Dean, more powerful even than a witch's skepticism.

Eventually, they came to a stop a few feet outside of a set of double doors. The woman turned, looking at Dean with eyes piercing and full of nerves. Dean wasn't quite sure what she wanted that was so unaskable, but...

“I believe you're looking for someone to make your herbs?” She questioned. Dean nodded her head, surprise and warning both fighting to be her dominant emotion.

The woman reached out and grabbed the handle of one of the doors, opening it up.

It was gorgeous. There were flowers and herbs and greenery everywhere. The roof on this place was beautiful and glass, letting an amazing amount of sunlight shine through. There were pots of everything imagineable everywhere, and Dean thought that it was absolutely the most beautiful sight she'd ever seen.

“How did you get all of this here?” She asked, breathing in deeply to taste the beautiful nature air. The other smiled just a little, her lip quirking upwards as she watched Dean's enjoyment.

“My father is rich. I asked him to start building it around two months ago. I, uh.... He's gone, now. But I still have this.” She said. Dean paused, turning back to her.

“He's gone? What do you mean by that?” She asked. The girl shrugged.

“He's gone out to sea. His boat crashed and he won't be back now.” She admitted. There was a silence that went on a little too long, the tension starting to build before she cleared her throat and stuck out a hand, awkward and stiff in her movements. “I'm Castiel.”

“Well, Castiel.” Dean said, looking out to her large variety, “As long as you wouldn't mind having me as a customer, I'll split the profits for potions with you forty-sixty. How about you come back to my place tonight and we make the deal official?” Dean propositioned.

Castiel nodded her head, eyes not leaving Dean's. The look was intense and had a little bit of an underlying sense of wonder and tension, but Dean couldn't seem to tear her own eyes away.

“Of course, that would be lovely.” Castiel confirmed, nodding. Dean smiled.

 

“I'll see you tonight, then.”

**Author's Note:**

> * Kitsune in actual Japanese culture are demons that can be either good or bad, not the killing machines they are in Supernatural. 
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> Please leave a review and tell me how I did. It will encourage me to update sooner. :-)


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